---

Rose had been silent as the inquisitor spoke. Every truth cutting deeper into her.

The stories her mother and grandmother had told her; of the grand courtyards, the dancing in the streets, the benevolent Goddess and the love she gifted to her people. The truth Rose had seen with her own eyes had dashed that image of Omestris and the land named after Her into pieces. This place was nothing but a scorched cemetery, the bones of a carcass left on the snow. The buildings and streets, every inch of it, blasted to hell. It wasn't like in the stories. Rose had kept her disappointment and anguish over this realization to herself, hiding her hurt so that the children wouldn't notice her moment of hesitation and weakness, but there the inquisitor stood, prying open the wound.

"And where is their god?"

Gods, Rose amended the words silently. The people of the Hand prayed to two deities. One of them was gone. The other, according to Essa, still lived. Once more, the seed within her mind, choked by the thorn and foliage of a lifetime's faith, began to crack open.

Rose had heard Essa speak of the Forgotten One once before, but it was only when the elder showed the two inquisitors His wounding at the hands of Omestris and her conspirators that she realized the gravity of what awaited her and her people. The inquisitor's words only added to her burdens.

"You asked what would happen if I made a mistake and my warsiblings paid the price? I have made many, and nearly always, they were the ones to pay for it." The inquisitor tossed her spear aside and shrugged her shield onto her shoulder, a precise burst of force pushing the steel box from under the bed. "I was never strong enough. I was only stubborn. Stubborn and destructive."

Rose watched the box slide across the floor and then shatter as the inquisitor destroyed it with a blast of concussive force. Rose flinched as the shattered remnants of the steel box exploded throughout the room, embedding themselves into the walls and destroying the old wooden frame of her bed. Rose prepared for the worst and tried to shield herself in vain with her arms, but when she lowered them she found that the inquisitor had summoned a thin paling around them both.

"I destroy whatever comes near. Friend, foe, it doesn't matter. That is what Omestris means to me. Do you understand? Abandonment and destruction. I will give no loyalty to something like that."

Rose tried to understand the woman's resentment. Omestris was said to be the most destructive of the Gods, Her people being able to summon dread miracles that could lay waste to the world. These ruins were evident of that. The power to annihilate slept in their blood. It was a part of them, and by the inquisitor's own words, and through her demonstrating of her power, she was damned good at it. Rose would've killed to have even a fraction of her abilities.

But then... Abandonment.

She was right. The Goddess her bloodline once served had given up without even fighting and cursed their descendants to suffer in slavery with no hope of salvation. Omestris herself had slain her twin brother through treachery and deceit. If the legends were to be believed, Asherahn's fire still raged within her veins-- No, even now, it burned within the blood of all Omestrians.

Essa had warned of Asherahn's cruelty, of His vestigial hatred and His desire for nothing else beyond destruction, but could the truth of it all be so simple? Nothing ever was. One day, Rose would have to decide what would be best for her people. Continue to pray to an absent goddess who surrendered unconditionally to the future oppressor of Her flock, or seek out the one God who appeared to be doing the one thing that all the other Gods weren't. Fighting.

Something hot seemed to be burning her face. She didn't know what it was. Shame. Anger. Sadness. Fear. She couldn't be sure, and she didn't care. The time to let down her silly "warrior's" facade had long passed, and thus for the first time, Rose allowed herself to act like who she truly was. A twelve-year old child.

"All my life. Omestris was there. Every morning, the whispered prayers rang out from the beds around me. Every night, those who remained echoed those prayers. My own voice was among them. Always."

The thin paling summoned by the inquisitor began to fade around them. Rose turned to face the inquisitor's spear as it lay on one of the beds. Her thin but strong shoulders slumped in response to her deep breathing.

"You say you cannot offer your loyalty to a God who abandoned you. Before coming here, I would have argued against you. But, now, seeing what I have, I am not so certain."

It took a moment for her to realize that she was fighting back tears.

"I'm confused. I don't know what to do. What to believe."

Rose clenched her fists, the jagged edges of her false fingers digging painfully into her palms.

"Asherahn," the girl spoke hesitantly, the name sitting on her tongue like a sharp stone.

A long silence hung in the air.

"Omestris has abandoned us. But He hasn't."

---

The black ice that surrounded the Glacier spread like tendrils of ink across the stark white frost of the Lanostran frontier. That shadowed frost, ever shifting in slow cascades, had already begun to claim the remains of the conscripts. There would be no collecting their bodies once this was done, Elisheva thought sadly. They belonged to it now.

Some distance in front of them, the Glacier enshrouded the horizon like a massive wall of shadow. One could glimpse the Glacier from the walls of Sapharan, running like a black artery across the western frontier, but to see it up close was something else entirely. To gaze upon it up close, to walk beneath its shadow, you immediately realized just what you were staring at-- a myth made manifest, a vestigial Remnant of the Ice Titan. Elisheva had glimpsed it the night before, but seeing it in daylight, with the low sun flashing across its mirrored surface and the azure veins pulsing across it in their phantom light, she couldn't help but feel a breathless wonder at its terror and glory. She stole a glance at the Lanostran inquistors. Each was calm, ready. The Glacier held no more marvel for them.

Father Galahad and Mother Astraea took up the front with a line of riflemen behind them, while Cillian and Mother Tatiana headed the middle squadron. Elisheva marched on the right flank, her own squad of conscripts at her back. All was silent but for the sound of their boots crunching in the snow and the low hum of Cillian's protective aegis resonating in their ears. Even ensconced within it, Elisheva was still shivering beneath her layers.

As they neared the shallow ridge that would lead them to their attack position, they spotted a lone structure a short distance from the Glacier itself. It was a squat building surrounded by bulwarks and machine gun turrets. A destroyed radio tower lay toppled on the ice near it.

"The T'saraen research garrison. We are near the demons' attack perimeter. If we advance from here, we should expect them to take flight and rain down on us," Elisheva said to Galahad.

The blonde-haired inquisitor turned his head and nodded. A moment later, they continued their advance.

One step was all it took.

The three seraphs sitting on their ice thrones turned their heads and stared directly at the inquisitors. Even from the far distance, Elisheva could feel their eyes upon her.

The sound of shearing ice began to fill their ears. The seraphs' wings, thin and translucent but sharper than any blade, began to flutter in blindingly fast rotations, their movements blurring the air around them. In an instant the demons took flight and began to canvass the sky above, the sheer number of them swarming together, blocking the sun. The ice and snow darkening beneath them, the conscripts raised their rifles to the cloud of buzzing ice that hung over them.

"N-No... There's so many of them..."

"We can't defeat them all..."

Elisheva drew the twin blades from the scabbards that hung across her back and immediately jumped on the high ridge.

"I will hear none of that talk! Focus! Conserve your ammunition and only fire when you have a clear angle!" she pointed her blades at the swarm and screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice cutting through the strange cacophonous shearing sound of the demons' wings.

Beneath her, Galahad and Astraea were making their way further up the trench, while Cillian and Tatiana situated themselves at the rear, yelling orders at their own rifle squad. As the riflemen began to fire, Elisheva concentrated.

She closed her eyes, the ether coursing through her catalyst. When she opened them, her red eye was glowing bright.

At once, an armory of crimson spellblades, ghostly and translucent, spawned in the air around her, floating in place for a moment before rotating rapidly in a blurred circle of scarlet light. The circle of spellblades began to stretch out in a vast diameter around her and titled so that their blades pointed skyward.

"Die," she whispered, her blazing red eye aimed at the swarm, and with that, each of the blades shot forth into the air, cutting through the sky until they pierced and slashed through several demons, causing them to fall to the ground in ruined heaps of broken ice. The demons would soon take to the ground, Galahad had predicted, and thus she had to destroy as many of them with this opening salvo as she could. The etherblades danced through the swarm, making quick work of the demons while Galahad's spells shot forth from the trench and caused devastating damage to them.

With an inhuman quickness the swarm began to split into three smaller columns and the demons began to fly toward the ground in an attempt to attack from both sides of the trench.

"They're coming down here!" a conscript yelled in horror.

"Steady, soldier! Keep firing and don't let up!"



Cillian and Tatiana stood shoulder-to-shoulder near the entrance to the trench, both of them providing focused support fire. When it began to split into three, they knew.

With Elisheva remaining on the ridge and keeping the demons from attacking directly from above, It would fall to Galahad, Astraea, Tatiana and himself to meet the demons as they advanced into the trench. They could not fail in halting the advance. One of the demons alone could tear through an entire squad of soldiers with its wings.

"Whatever you do, don't let those things near you," he told Tatiana with a nervous smile, patting his still-healing wound.

In the sky above, a column of demons began to arc its way toward the entrance to the trench, where Elisheva's spellblades could not reach them.

"Mother Tatiana, I think the time is nearing for us to make use of your friend. Just give me a few seconds," Cillian said to her, his eyes focused on the column of demons as the terrifying buzzing sound of their wings grew closer and closer.

"R-Reverence, what do we do?" a conscript called out, her face pale as frost.

"Hold your fire."

Cillian reached into his inquisitor's coat and pulled out what appeared to be a fistful of small round grains. He then tossed them at the entrance of the trench.

The sound of the demons' wings intensified to a loud crescendo. Cillian could see them now, flying level with the ground, their bladed wings skimming the blackened ice. Cillian could glimpse their strange human-like faces, carved from ice, their eyes hollow black slits. There were at least two dozen of them, each of them soaring rapidly toward the front entrance.

Cillian braced himself. He held up his hand. At any second the demons would reach their position. He concentrated. His eyes, a dark gold, began to flash the color of the sun. The ether in his catalyst made it tremble violently. He could feel the light searing of the ether's sorcery burning in his fingertips.

The instant the demons crossed the threshold, a thick bramble of crimson thorns erupted from the ice beneath them, trapping the demons in place. The thorns grew and spread and tangled all across the entrance of the trench and then spread to the gap between the trench and the ridge, sealing shut the space directly above Cillian, Tatiana and their firing squad. The demons struggled to free themselves, their razor sharp wings struggling to move against the density of the thorns. Those not caught in Cillian's trap made their way to the sealed ceiling and began to try to cut their way through.

"Their wings are sharp, it will not hold them back forever, but it will give us time. We must pick off the trapped demons while we can, but when they break through..."

Cillian glanced at Tatiana and met her eyes.

"It will fall to you to protect us, Tatiana."

A cold dead silence reverberated from Cillian and Tatiana's front. The inquisitor dared not to speak, even as the carnage began. Occasionally, she would hear Cillian call to her or bark orders to others. She wasn't listening. Not really. She could notice some of the conscripts shooting weary-eyed gazes of disbelief and panic as they witnessed her. She was stagnant— unmoving, save for a moment spared to augment her abilities with her spare ether vials. Tatiana had barely even fired a shot from her rifle held at rest. She was an alright shot. Certainly better than some of the conscripts, but even as the demons came forth, the young Tatiana stood like stone. Time went on and on as the alien beasts closed their distance towards the trench. The panic in her brigade was palpable at that point, but perhaps its cause was something a bit less obvious.

It was looming in the air— that impending sense of dread. It hung over everyone around the summoner as if an aura of pure hatred had been conjured in the air. The most worried soldiers might look back to the paralyzed inquisitor to find the source of their fear. Tatiana held a clenched fist, twitching and shaking at its own will. Around her appendage, swathes of black smoke emanated. The source of pestilential smog only amplified as the mass of demons charged the trench. Elisheva wouldn't be able to stop them all and Tatiana knew that.

"Whatever you do, don't let those things near you," Cillian's words finally seemed to click in Tatiana's mind as if the catatonia that had seemingly overtaken her had briefly fell. A smile broached her stony expression.

"Funny... I had the exact opposite plan." The words came under Tatiana's breath, lost in the harsh wailing of the icy winds. Her eyes traced the scenario before, rapidly shifting left and right to take in the sights before her. The cacophony of thrums echoing from the beating of glacial wings only grew louder. The other demons were closing in, but Tatiana held herself from acting. Why? She didn't know herself. Perhaps it was that final sight of the creatures as they closed the distance. She could see the eyes of her adversaries. Pain emanated from within them. Tatiana couldn't help but reminisce on the day where she had witnessed the same sight in the eyes of another creature: her own partner.

Tatiana faltered if just for a moment. The viscous black smoke fizzled out from her grip. She had lost her preparation, and so close to the moment she would clash with her enemy... The word echoed in her mind: enemy... These weren't her enemies. No. Tatiana briefly stumbled back, sure that the charging demons would slash straight through her form as they buzzed towards her. Did she accept her fate? She wasn't sure. After just a moment, she focused back upon her foes. They had been stopped? Cillian's trap had sprung. He had acted when she would not. He had stepped up to protect their group. That thought would haunt her, but not now. She didn't have time for that. The brambles weren't going to hold them forever. The shadowy grasp of smoke surrounded her hand once again, flaring up to a much greater volume than before. Tatiana shifted her gaze to look towards her savior. He met her gaze.

"Their wings are sharp, it will not hold them back forever, but it will give us time. We must pick off the trapped demons while we can, but when they break through... It will fall to you to protect us, Tatiana." He was right. Soon, the demons would be upon them again, and their tiny squadron was by no means ready to take care of them. Finally it had come. It was her time. It was their time...

"Terviclops!" Tatiana threw her hand skyward, allowing the emanating smoke trails to fire up into the freezing air where it would amass itself into a monolithic orb. As if calling back to Tatiana's summon, an infernal roar emanated from the sphere of smoke. The cacophonous sound shot out, echoing off of the Black Glacier for all to hear. Then, as if all that dread hanging in the air had been sucked up and compacted into its rawest form, the massive ragged beast fell from the smoke. The Terviclops demon writhed in agony as it smashed down into the snow on its feet. The creature appeared easily over double the size of a Tatiana with torn flesh and patchwork fur. It held a wicked spear appearing so makeshift that it may have better suited the creature as a blunt weapon. No matter what happened, it seemed the demon was restless, constantly jumping and flailing around.

Tatiana readied herself as her companion came to. She clutched her rifle in one hand as though a club, the bayonet at its end poised to strike just the same as the combat knife in her offhand. Tatiana sent one final glance towards Cillian. Her solemn gaze had been replaced with something new— something almost inexplicable. She felt the carnage coursing through the massive beast at her side and it fueled her. She was excited. She spoke up one final word in a calm voice, but her energy was palpable in her utterance. "Set.." The Terviclops demon finally halted in its rage, falling dead silent. It swiveled its body through the air to aim itself at its brethren. It was as if it was setting itself like an angered ram. In its motions, Tatiana made her own movements, jumping towards the tail of her demon. As swiftly as one might climb stairs, the squadron of conscripts alongside Cillian would witness Tatiana scaling the back of her companion, grabbing at patches of dead and knotted fur. Once she had hunkered against its back, gripping Terviclops as if her life depended it, one more word broached her lips. This one seemed to finally release that pent up potential energy in both her and her stalwart beast: "Charge..."

---

Terviclops shot forward with reckless abandon. The behemoth beelined right towards the first few winged demons to free themselves from Cillian's trap. Huddled against the creature was its summoner. Tatiana couldn't see anything before her or where her demon intended to strike. It was that trust that linked them. Their two resonant minds had to work together— or at least that was how Tatiana justified it. Her enemies were poised to shred straight through her own demon with their rapidly beating wings, but Terviclops had other plans. Distance closed and soon enough, the two primal forces were just meters from one another. With one swift motion, the stone spear held in the hands of Terviclops barreled forward. With both claws wrapped around its armament, the Terviclops demon smashed its weapon into the marauding demon, clobbering it aside into the snow. Two more winged demons still flew to flank the duo on either side, though. It was finally time for Tatiana to act.

The looming beasts were mere seconds from cutting into Tatiana and her demon, and she knew that. In one swift motion, Tatiana released her grip from Terviclops. In her fall, she allowed herself to kick off of the back of the now stationary behemoth. Arcing her firearm through the air still held in one hand, she let rip the trigger, sending a projectile right at one of the demons. Her precarious positioning left aiming as something to be further developed, though. The bullet ripped through the air only to smash into a portion of the beast's wing. While she did succeed in offsetting one of the attackers from striking at Terviclops, the same attacker followed up by flying towards Tatiana instead, and as she fell onto her back in the snow, her position left much to be desired.

Tatiana aimed her weapon once more, but there was no time to fire. As the demon sliced its wings perpendicular the ground, Tatiana prepared only one maneuver to rescue herself, relinquishing her weapon from her hands. Just as the icy wings carved into the rift of snow before her, Tatiana shot one shoulder up, rolling herself away from the bisecting slash of the demon. As it flew on and started to turn around, Tatiana made for her weapon. She fired once, twice, three times. It was then that the desolate click click click sounded as she pressed the trigger. Her weapon was empty. Still, the demon flew, albeit slowed and with fragmented armor. As it came in for a second flyby, Tatiana knew she needed to rethink her strategy. For less than a second, Tatiana glanced back towards her companion. Terviclops was going toe-to-toe with the third aerial demon. That stone spear it wielded proved deadly against any demons closing in. Tatiana felt the wooden stock of her firearm. Her grip tightened. Her vision honed in on the speeding demon. Tatiana didn't see an enemy before her, no. Instead, she honed her focus on watching the creature as a projectile ready to impact and eviscerate her in just milliseconds.

Another sidestep forced itself through her body. All the while, Tatiana let crack her bayoneted weapon in effort to impact it sharp edge against the wings of the charging figure. She let out a cry of frustration as the weapon was macerated in the beating of the glacial wings, being ripped from her hands in the process. Tatiana may have lost her only firearm, but she got what she wanted in return. The demon skidded across the icy ground, one of its wings cracked and faltering. Tatiana could see the creature trying hopelessly to rise back into the air on its shattered wing. Finally, the inquisitor had a moment to gather her breath. Another look to her Terviclops revealed the raging demon just finishing off the third enemy with a gruesome smashing of its spear into the fallen creature. For a moment, Tatiana could have sworn a sense of sorrow welled up within her. What was she doing?

No. She didn't have time for thoughts of remorse. She was in her element. "Terviclops..." Tatiana looked to her massive companion, determination welling up in her weary eyes. "Advance." With the same demonic reckless abandon as before, Tatiana and her demon rushed forward, further and further from Cillian and his firing squad. She knew what they would meet if they pushed on. It fueled her. No fear was present in the young inquisitor's mind. Only fury manifested within her. She was lost in a primal state. Chaos was all she sought. Tatiana was headed straight for the center of the glacier.

It took a moment for Rose's words to sink in, and for Ziotea to get past her initial, incredulous response to what sounded like raving stupidity. Even then it was just too funny. She laughed, a short burst of mirth that faded into sadness. "You really believe that? Spare me, girl. Asherahn was not there to help you either, and if what Essa showed us is true, then how would He be any better than Varya? Might as well submit to the hunger of the Ravenous Lord: He's still fighting. Asherahn hates -- and if He fights, Asherahn fights for Himself. The gods are selfish. They do not care for us, not any of Them."

She didn't know the truth of what had happened back in the time of the gods, and while she wanted to know it wasn't for Them. If Rose was looking to her for answers, the child wasn't going to get any. Ziotea had only questions, questions and resentment. "If you want to seek refuge in meaningless ideals, that's your choice. I put my faith in the strength of my spear, the skill of my companions. In the things I know, and can rely on. Not absent gods and empty hope. And I've yet to see any reason to do otherwise."

Ziotea set her shield down against the wall, eyeing the steel shards scattered around. A wave of her hand sent the loose ones skittering up against the wall, out of the way. She'd have to check the beds over before they sat on them, and she didn't have the patience to dislodge the ones buried in walls and ceiling. I'd probably bring the roof down, anyhow. "You've heard the one piece of worthwhile advice I had to offer. You didn't like it. That's your choice. Now get out of here. Go tend to your nursemaid. If she dies, the choice won't be yours any longer. It'll be mine." It wasn't a kind thing to say, but Ziotea wasn't interested in being kind. It might have been a little bit of an overstatement, but she wanted the girl gone, out of her face with her blind faith and unselfish loyalty. If it took a little cruelty to accomplish that, so be it.

---

Hassan sat cross-legged on the stone floor, his eyes focused on his bandaged hand. Somewhere far away he could hear Stina's staccato stutter as the big man recounted the tale SA soldiers were now calling "The Butchery at Tale's End". Beneath the bandages his fingers were a ruinous jut of flesh and bone and the pain, half-dulled by Sister Mel's acolyte-level medicinal ether, was blossoming once more. It was all thanks to that piss-ant smuggler's handcannon. It would take Astraea's talents to bring back his fingers. Two more days until I see her... Hassan thought bitterly.

It took him a moment to notice the silence in the room. His eyes suddenly jolted to attention and the inquisitor found that everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to tell his part of the tale. Hassan was rarely at a loss for words, but there he sat, silent as the moments dragged by uncomfortably.

"Uh, Hassan? Come on! We've been waiting. Tell us what happened with the smuggler," Ragnar demanded, his indigo eyes appearing almost black in the darkened common room.

"Right."

The easy-going smile returned to his lips and as he sat forward, clasping his hands together, all the burdened thoughts of Father Ilya and his traitorous mother banished to that stone crypt where he kept all of his insecurities. Hassan was a born actor, but Stina could always see through him. Any crack in his countenance would easily be noticed by the hulking inquisitor. And thus, he put on his best face.

"Just before Stina turned the pub into a slaughterhouse, I felt them. Two signatures. They were beneath the bar, in the cellar. They were moving quickly. That's when I noticed that one of the signatures belonged to Sister Mel, the nun with the cigarette. She spoke of Kadenza as if they were childhood friends, so, I went down there, and sure enough..."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, get to the good part. How did he manage to blow off your fingers?" Ragnar asked, smirking.

"Well, my dear Ragnar. This is what happens when you take an opponent lightly. I was also still pretty drunk, so that's another excuse. All I will say is this. He pulled out a handcannon and aimed it at the nun. Wasn't expecting that, really."

"So, you saved her?"

"I summoned a paling around the two of us. A weak one. But I only had seconds to spare. Wasn't anything like the palings you can summon, but it was strong enough to protect us both from the worst of it."

"Hmph. Never would've thought you for the shining hero, Hassan. Galahad will get a kick out of this."

Hassan smiled at his brothers, playing with the image in his head. He turned to smile at Mother Vivica, who was listening to the tale quietly, but when he saw her, a flash of concern shone in his eyes. There was a strange red mark on her neck. An ether scar of some sort, Hassan guessed.

"What happened there?" he asked her, raising his bandaged hand to touch his neck.

"No, no, no. Don't you dare change the subject," Ragnar interrupted, "You've been hush-hush about it all night. Tell us what Kadenza revealed to you! Does he really know where Father Dara is?"

Hassan faked a yawn and leaned back against the couch, stretching his long legs on the carpet.

"I spent more than an hour debriefing those two lieutenants about what I learned from Kadenza. I'm bored out of my mind with this whole Dara situation. It's out of our hands. Doesn't concern us at all."

"Um, hello? Of course it concerns us. According to Church reports Dara was last seen in Lanostre. That's where Galahad, Astraea and Tatiana are. What if they run into him?"

Tatiana...

Hassan closed his eyes and pictured her face. It had only been a week since he had last seen her, and yet he missed her terribly.

Why didn't you let me go with you? I wouldn't be knee-deep in this mess...

"They are visiting home, Ragnar. They won't be getting into any summoner-related trouble. Besides, we're due in Cero and our mission is too important for the Church to ask them to go hunting some apostate."

Ragnar seemed to have no answer for that, and thus the young inquisitor sat back, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Hassan understood his warsibling's frustration. A decade of being locked in this place and suddenly on their last night out the three of them get pulled into an SA-operation to hunt down the empire's most wanted fugitive. Ragnar wanted to know everything, every juicy morsel and Hassan couldn't blame him. But there was no way he could tell them the truth of what he discovered. Knowledge was his weapon, and he wasn't going to reveal his knives just yet.

"I promise to tell you all about my interrogation later. For now, I need sleep. The sun is about to come up and we're due at the station not long after that. Rest well, warsiblings."

Hassan rose from the floor and bowed to the three inquisitors before making his way out of the common room. He proceeded down the long hallway where their individual chambers were located. The first set of doors, more ornate then the others, was blazoned with a large purple crest inlaid with a constellation of multicolored spheres. Galahad's chambers.

He continued, making his way past Astraea's chambers, then Stina's, Ragnar's, Ziotea's, Rodion's, then his own. He proceeded to the far end of the hall, where he stopped at the last door. Hassan stole a final glance down the long open hall, and when he was satisfied that no one was present, he turned his attention to the door. An azure crescent and pale star adorned it.

Hassan brought his hand to the door handle, where above it there was a small keyhole. He closed his eyes, sending waves of phantom ether into the locking mechanism, feeling and probing as if with his own fingers. They were as familiar to him as the mechanisms on his own door, and thus...

Click.

It took but a moment, and the door was unlocked. Hassan pushed open the door silently and made his way inside Father Ilya Bjornlie's chambers.



A collection of rifles on the wall, with one conspicuously missing. A pair of crossed sabers. Photographs. A House Bjornlie banner. The floors were clean. The bed had not been slept in. A work desk with nothing on it, save for a lone red potted plant. A parting gift from the gardener of Leviathan, perhaps?

He sighed as he stood in the middle of Father Ilya Bjornlie's chambers.

Hassan didn't know what to expect to find in this place, but he was hoping something would immediately jump out at him. So far, nothing did.

Hassan hadn't spent much time getting to know Ilya since the marksman, Viveca and the quiet one, Oren, had been transferred to Warband Phoenix , but the man seemed decent enough. He was one of the best riflemen in the Seminary, and his crazy water magic was pretty interesting, Hassan admitted, but he was a Varyan, through and through-- rich, blonde, with the cocksure smile of one who knows that the world will always belong to him, and for that reason Hassan would always find him annoying. He certainly didn't seem like the type to be hiding any dark, terrifying secrets however.

... But of course, secrets were the lifeblood of the Seminary. Creid, Aleksandre, Antonin, Ragnar, even himself. Everyone had a secret. What was Lady Ophelia Bjornlie's? And was her son involved? If Ilya was involved, if he had any connection to Father Dara...

He tore through the work desk and found nothing but workman's tools and spent shell casings. A large dresser was completely empty, as was all the other storage compartments in the room.

"Fuck."

Finding nothing in Ilya's bedchamber, Hassan made his way to the adjacent room, a large stone chamber with a massive pool of water in its center. The "Water Room", is what he heard it described as. Ilya used this place to practice his ethereal abilities. Apparently he had one just like it in his old chambers at the Leviathan compound.

It was a beautiful space, Hassan realized. The shifting water painted the walls with its cascading reflections and above, a round glass portal gave way to the open sky. As his footsteps echoed through the chamber Hassan realized that he could hear nothing else but the sound of the water. There was no whirling of machinery here, no crooning wind as it swept through the cavernous hallways. Only water.

Hassan closed his eyes, and breathed. Gifting himself this one moment to be free of the chorus of machines and clockwork that eternally permeated his hearing. He silently cursed Ilya for having access to such a place.

That was when he felt it. Something brushed up against his leg.

Hassan opened his eyes and saw the wolf pup staring up at him. It was the the black one with dark indigo markings. The largest of the three, and only female, if Hassan remembered correctly. It was gazing into his eyes silently, wagging its tail.

Suddenly, he remembered.

The pups were supposed to be in Ragnar's room.

"How in blazes did you get in here?" Hassan asked. He was sure he had locked the door behind him.



By the time he walked out of Ilya's chambers the sun was rising low in the horizon, the first rays of its distant light making their way into the compound. Keeping the black pup close to his chest, he turned around and locked the door with his ether.

"This isn't over," he whispered to himself, taking one last look at the crescent moon and star that adorned Ilya's door.

Hassan made his way down the hall silently, stopping outside his door in the middle of the hallway. He gazed into the darkened common room, empty and lonely, now slowly beginning to fill with light. He tried to remember it as it always was in the mornings, packed with his warsiblings getting ready to begin morning training.

Soon, he would see them again. He found himself looking forward to it. Hassan turned and entered his room, shutting the door behind him, failing entirely to glimpse Viveca hidden behind the corner ahead.

She had seen everything.

---

At the front of his small army, Galahad strode proudly, undaunted by the challenge before him. There was the crunch of glass as he cast aside several ether vials, which clattered against the ice and snow before being crushed underfoot by a cold, callous boot. Front loaded with ether, the brilliant emerald glow of Gallahad's eyes could be seen even behind the steel battle mask that covered his face. Beneath his mask, a cold grimace was etched on his face, as his fingers flexed reflexively, the ether coursing through his veins causing small chunks of ice on the ground to glow and hover around him as his body struggled to contain the excess energy.

Step by step, the approached the formation of demons, the tension in the air palpable as they waited for the inevitable moment that they'd turn and charge. Elisheva called out to him.

"The T'saraen research garrison. We are near the demons' attack perimeter. If we advance from here, we should expect them to take flight and rain down on us,"

One step was all it took. As they crossed the invisible threshold, Galahad could see the three seraphs sitting on their ice thrones turned their heads and stared directly at the inquisitors. Galahad could make eye contact with one of the demons, both of them faceless, Galahad with his mask and the demon with its visage. Above him, he heard the buzzing of wings. They were like insects. With a simple flourish, Galahad's saber flew from its scabbard and into his outstretched hand. He pointed the tip of the blade at the oncoming horde.

"Fire!" Galahad yelled. The rolling crack of rifle fire answered him. From Galahad's other hand, white-blue energy began to coalesce in his hand. Sweat beaded at his forehead as he created several orbs in his hand. Releasing them all at once, his breath shortened suddenly from the loss of energy as he launched three orbs of energy into the sky. Streaking into the air, the orbs found their marks within packs of enemies before the exploded. Galahad grimaced with satisfaction as the shattered bodies of demons fell out of the sky. Galahad managed to fire off three more etheric blasts before the Demons began taking to the ground, just as he predicted.

As Galahad stepped forward to face the demons now on the ground, he instinctively stepped out of the way as Terviclops and Tatiana sped by. His calm rocked for a moment, Galahad's jaw dropped behind his mask before he shook it off and waved Astrea onwards. The two Inquisitors followed Tatiana into the horde, sword and spear in hand. Galahad's eyes whipped back and forth as he scanned the horde of demons, taking in as much information as he could. He couldn't afford to stand still and wait for them to come to him. In such a battle where he was vastly outnumbered, he had to be the one to take the initiative, keep the enemy reacting to him, instead of converging on him. His eyes locked on a demon whipping around to face Tatiana's terviclops. Taking advantage of the distraction, Galahad leaped forward, the demon turning around just in time to catch Galahad's saber to the neck.

The balance of his saber was marvelous, if Galahad wasn't in such a dangerous situation he would've taken a second to admire his new weapon, though given the circumstances, that was the least of his worries. Instead, he put his new weapon through its paces turning on a heel and ducking under a second demon's swing before slapping at its torso with an open palm, a spell sending it flying away in pieces as a thunderclap exploded in its chest. Turning at the last second Galahad forced himself to the side as another demon's wing flew past him, shearing the steel pauldron off of his shoulder. Quickly recovering, Galahad pulled at the scrap of armor on his shoulder and threw it to the ground, holding his saber out to face the new threat.

The demon swung at him again, and Galahad instinctively sidled, sinking his saber into the demon's collarbone. Catching a flicker of movement to his left, Galahad shifted, moving the demon embedded in his sword along with it, the next oncoming demon swinging its wings into its friend, steered by Galahad into place. As ice crashed against ice, Galahad pulled the trigger on his saber, once, then twice into the torso of the demon as he pulled his blade out of the first. Throwing his palm forward, he blasted both of them with a wave of telekinetic energy, using chunks of one demon to smash into the other.

Sometime during the fight, Galahad found himself back to back with Astraea, any previous disagreement lost as they focused on killing the oncoming horde of demons. They moved almost as if they were dancing, Astraea flipped over Galahad's back and stabbed at one with a spear, as Galahad lunged in the opposite direction and struck with his saber. Astrea spun around in a half circle with a wide sweeping swing of her spear, Galahad followed the motion and loosed a flurry of crescents into more demons. Turning into a crouch, Galahad took to one knee and opened the case of tungsten balls at his side. Pulling out a dozen or two with telekinesis, he threw his hand out and let loose a huge scattering burst of tungsten cutting down several more demons that ran at them.

In the distance, Galahad heard the growl of Terviclops. He and Tatiana were rushing out further into the Glacier, towards the three seraphs that sat on their thrones. Galahad nearly slapped his face in exasperation.

"This one's going to get herself killed." Galahad cursed, "Astraea! With me! She's going off to pick a fight with their lords."

Turning to Elisheva, Galahad called out. "Elisheva! Cillian! Handle the rest! We're going on to destroy the leadership!"

Galahad and Astraea had cleared out enough of the demons that he was relatively confident that Elisheva and Cillian along with the rest of their conscripts could handle them.

---

Even with the T'saraen aegisdome casting its amber light upon the world below, Rodion could feel the gaping jaw of the pitch black sky yawning over him. It had been three days since he had left Ziotea and the others to travel to Cero for his preliminary inspection of the arks-- three days since he had left the grey labyrinth of Magnagrad behind, free from the Seminary's temple roofs and myriad walls. The world itself, collared by the Gods as it was, finally lay open before him, and yet he still had not gotten used to the openness of it. The abyssal sky above all made him feel infinitesimally small.

Agaetys...

There was so much he didn't know. For years, he was the brightest lantern of Warband Phoenix, the one with all the answers. He understood that the world was composed of a near infinite number of components. People, history, faith, the Gods, all of it fit together-- haphazardly--- but he understood the mechanisms of the world, and through the long rote years he had grown peaceful with the harmony of it. Now it was as if a gear had gotten loose somewhere in the machinery.

Things didn't make sense anymore.

He felt a shiver in his bare arms. The porthole in his quarters aboard the Karamzina allowed him a view of the sprawl of ice that surrounded the drydocks. The frost shelf had been turned to slush for some distance beyond the Forge, allowing the Karamzina and the Grace to submerge beneath the ice. This allowed the engineers to perform much-needed stress tests to their Hearth Systems in preparation for the long journey ahead. Rodion had commanded that such a stress test be performed under his supervision-- a request that Tsukasa had acquiesced to, as was his duty, but did so with a hint of consternation. Rodion could see it on the old engineer's face. But it had to be done. Rodion had to know how far the engine could be pushed.

Deva's voice came in through the small radio in Rodion's ear.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a sleep-deprived voice.

It was strange hearing someone that wasn't Ziotea or Ragnar ask him that. He remained quiet, staring down at the piece of miserable-looking bread in his hands. His heart felt heavy. He still didn't know if he truly believed what he had just seen.

"I don't know," he answered.

"It's... weird, I know. My dad and I are here for you if you need anything."

Rodion leaned back in his chair. Trying to get comfortable, but finding it impossible.

"Thank you."



The "temple", the strange name the ark's crew had given to the odd elongated engine chamber of the Karamzina was quiet as Rodion made his way to the lift, where Head Engineer Amir Tsukasa and his daughter, Deva, waited.

Below them, the hollow tower that housed the Karamzina's all-powerful engine stretched down some 200 feet and as the lift descended, the soft golden light of the URA generator began to radiate up from the gloomy abyss. This tower, which hung from the Karamzina's prow, would fold backwards and unto the belly of the ark when the craft was moving. According to Tsukasa, the "temple" was a late addition to the ark, its form factor necessary due to the URA's propensity to interfere with other systems. The old engineer had likened the URA to a glorious comet, with the Karamzina being a sleigh strapped to it, trailing behind. Rodion didn't quite understand the metaphor. He would have his answers soon enough however.

When the lift had touched down at the base of the temple, Rodion could not look directly at it. The pale white sphere floating motionless before him was like something out of scripture. It did not look like a mechanical construct, but something else entirely. Organic, almost beautiful in a sense.

"Okay, dad. Tell him everything," Deva said suddenly.

Whatever was happening, Rodion wasn't expecting it. But he was glad when Tsukasa stepped forward and did as his daughter told him.

"Your Reverence, before I begin. I must inform you that the rest of the crew are not privy to this information, and well, it is in their best interest to--"

"Tell me what I need to know."

Tsukasa sighed, and turned to face the URA. Its light bathed him in a golden halo, his form growing dark and hazy as the radiance flowed over him. He took a deep breath.

"The URA was unearthed two decades ago by the T'saraen research garrison in Lanostre," the engineer began.

A thousand questions immediately blossomed within Rodion's mind, but one burned brighter than any other.

"The Black Glacier--"

"Indeed. That is where it was found." Tsukasa removed his glasses, staring at Rodion with eyes of the same lightning blue shade. "During a roundabout excursion deep into the depths, where the lowest fathoms of the Glacier lay buried amidst true earth, they chanced upon this great miracle. This lone pearl, embedded within the darkness."

A strange machine found at the Black Glacier... That explained why he and no one else he knew had ever heard of this thing. From what he understood of the garrison, they were loyal to Lanostre above all else, for their numbers were entirely comprised of the half-blooded descendants of the legendary ten researchers who had dedicated their lives to unearthing the Glacier all those decades past. But if this supposedly all-powerful engine was discovered twenty years ago, why did the Lanostrans not use it during the war?

Tsukasa seemed to be reading the young machinist's expression.

"... Yes, this arcane machine was discovered shortly before the Lanostran war first broke out. We know not why the warriors of the Trident didn't use its incredible properties to aid them during their war effort, for it would have helped turn the tide, but alas, for whatever reason, they locked it away. All that is known by the Cero research corps is that the engine was discovered in a secret vault within the royal palace at Sapharan by Father Gregoroth, the Great Bear. He then had it removed and--"

"-- Handed it over to MUSE, for your people to poke and prod," Rodion interrupted. It would make sense that Varya had stolen the machine, but, why keep it a secret then? He supposed it didn't matter. There were more important details to uncover and he was growing impatient. "Tell me, what did the great minds of T'sarae discover during these twenty years of research?"

"To begin with, the Faith decreed the object to be nonexistent, a shadow project. None were to know of its existence in Cero save the small council of researchers gifted with the task of uncovering its secrets. The first discovery, and perhaps the most important, occurred immediately after the object was transported to to the research team by top-level Varyan priests. Strangely enough, the researchers, all T'saraen of course, began to hear... sounds coming from the object. Sounds that the Varyan priests could not."

It spoke to them...

Suddenly he remembered. The Black Glacier... It also spoke to the original Ten Researchers. If the legends were to be believed, it spoke one word to them repeatedly.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

It was much the same this time, but with Varyans present. Why could they not hear the machine?

"Ura."

Rodion's eyes flashed to Tsukasa's.

"That's what it said. Ura. The word was like the wind, flowing through their minds. Apparently, they found it calming. Nothing like the cold terror that the Ten Researchers felt when the Glacier first spoke to them."

"Tell me. Why could only the researchers hear the object's voice?"

"Because of who they were, and what the object actually was. Or, to cut to the matter of things, where we came from. Machine and T'saraen both."

Rodion was unsure where Tsukasa was going, but he found himself completely fascinated.

"Think back to the Original Ten. They abandoned their homes, their families-- to journey into a foreign land in an attempt to uncover the Glacier's secrets. Was it all just mere scientific curiosity? No. In actuality, it was more than that."

Rodion remained silent, his mind churning with questions.

"There is an age old theory proclaiming the possibility of certain Remnants sharing... deeper connections with one another. For example, Lady Lanostre and the Right Hand that wielded Her. Or Omestris and whatever lost Remnant He held in His grasp. Now, think of our Lord, T'sarae. His was the Brain of the Ice Titan, the Frozen God's ingenuity and imagination, and for time immemorial our Lord has erected wonders upon this world owing to His origin. But there is one thing our Lord does not do. He does not look upon the past, or view this world in memory."

"What are you saying?"

"Think on it, Reverence. What is the most precious thing to you?"

Her.

"All of our glories, our loves and losses. Our history. We would be nothing without those things-- without our memories. Lord T'sarae has only ever looked forward, to the building of a better world. Never backward. It as as if the very concept was missing from him."

"I don't understand," Rodion spoke. It was the first time he had spoken those words in many years.

"The Black Glacier has long been thought to be lesser than a Remnant, a jagged shard, imperfect and powerless. But we were wrong. It is a Remnant. A near dead one, abandoned to the ages by its brethren. So inconsequential to this land and its greater history that it has only existed as a battleground to sharpen the skills of Lanostre's children. But, we were wrong. Not only us, but the Gods themselves. For the Glacier holds immense power... and it remembers."

Suddenly, the pieces clicked together.

"Lord T'sarae and the Glacier, or, Agaetys, as He is known in the dark corners of MUSE, are of literally, one mind. That, Reverence, is the connection between we T'saraens and the Remnant of Memories. That is why, when He speaks, we listen."

The Black Glacier... Agaetys. A Remnant. One composed of the Titan's memories.

Could such a thing be possible?

Hate. Hate. Hate.

It.. No, He has been speaking those words for eons. He rages within his prison, bringing into the world misshapen demons. His blood pulses an angry crimson, poisoning the ice around Him. If the Glacier wasn't a Remnant, it certainly had the temperament of one.

Suddenly, a harrowing thought flashed in his head.

If this really was a so-called Remnant of Memories, is He remembering the last moments of the Ice Titan? Is He... reliving His own death over and over and over?

Rodion took a deep breath and pushed the vision aside. There were more important questions he needed answers to.

"This is... quite the theory, Tsukasa, but is it just that? A theory?"

"No," the engineer responsed, his voice lowering to a feint whisper.

Tsukasa reached into his pocket and brought out a vial filled with golden ether. Rodion was intensely familiar with Omestrian ether, and it looked like such to his eyes. But as Tsukasa raised the vial closer to them, Rodion's eyes widened.

The ghostly liquid within the vial was the same elemental gold of the quintessance that flowed within Omestrian blood, but there were tiny specks of crimson light within it. Suddenly, Tsukasa gave the vial a shake, and the contents within it turned a brilliant amber. It wasn't just the color that changed though, it was the feeling of the ether as well. Whatever was inside that vial was unlike anything Rodion had ever sensed before.

"What is it?"

"We call it Agaetian ether. For it comes directly from it," Tsukasa answered, pointing at the glowing sphere.

"You called it Omestrian ether before."

"Please excuse the half-lie, Reverence. The crew knows not of the URA's true origins, thus that is the classification we use in their company. But, to be fair, calling it Omestrian ether isn't actually far from the truth. The two are incredibly similar in properties, save for a number of dynamic differences. We will explore the finer details later, but I am certain you and and the rest of Warband Phoenix will be amazed by what this ether can do."

"Very well, but... how? You say it comes from the URA, the engine of this ark. How can this machine power the entire Karamzina while being able to expell ether at the same time? Where is its power source? Its fuel? Such a thing shouldn't be possible."

Head Engineer Amir Tsukasa smiled then, turning to face the glowing sphere.

"Reverence, let me begin by saying that, as an engineer, I scarcely can believe what the URA is capable of, but day in and day out my understanding of the world is shattered by it. The URA is a miracle, and as I said earlier, it will one day change the world."

Rodion allowed himself to breathe for a moment. He tried desperately to grasp onto any answers that his mind could spit out, but he could not.

"Do you wonder how MUSE came up with the theory of the Black Glacier's true nature? It was the URA that cemented that belief."

"What are you talking about?"

Tsukasa ignored him and stepped closer to the floating sphere. After a moment, Rodion joined him.

"Look upon it. And remember."

"What? Remember? I don't--"

"You will."

Rodion stood there awkwardly for a few moments. He stole a glance at Tsukasa, who was gazing into the sphere with a sad smile. Something in the engineer's words was pure, as if it came straight from the old man's soul. He had spoken to Rodion with a strange familial warmth, as if the young man wasn't an inquisitor of the Faith, but some long lost grandson. The warmth in Tsukasa's words. It was disarming.

Rodion turned and gazed into the sphere. The gold light swam into the deep azure of his eyes, the radiance brightening them a cool cyan. The unstaunched light was bleeding over everything, and soon it was all his eyes could see. It was pure, white, the color of eternal snow, but warm. The shining void encompassed everything around him until through the shining abyss he glimpsed his little hideout, the musk and cold still familiar after all those years. But there, in the center of it all, burned into the gloom was the ember orange of her hair and the blood in his palm. Ziotea huddled in the corner like a little animal, ripping at a piece of hard stolen bread with her teeth. And then, her tiny hand was outstretched before him. His eyes, unsure, but his hunger burning him up, the bread in her palm appearing like a diamond. A peace offering. A friend offering. A life offering. His pale hand, bloody, reached out for it.

The void was gone. He was standing there in the engine room. Amir stared at him knowingly and clasped his shoulder, the violence of the URA's light fading.

There was blood on his palm. And within it, the piece of bread lay crumpled between his fingers.

As the last dregs of the drug faded away, Oren opened his eyes. The girl hadn't left but at the very least. she had respected his wishes and sat down nearby. She had glanced at him from time to time, but they hadn't said anything to one another for the past... half hour or so? There was no easy way for him to tell how long he'd been here, but that seemed about right. He took a deep breath, before standing, and offering his hand to Fionna to assist in the same.

"We should return before we are missed," he said softly. "Given how fierce your elder sister is, I've little doubt that she might accuse me of trying to kidnap you - something I'd rather avoid."

When she stood and brushed a light layer of snow off of her clothes, he gestured for her to walk beside him as they began to walk back. He slowed his pace so that she could keep up, letting her guide him through the tunnels and towards where he'd be staying. When they reached the rooms, Oren spoke to the girl once more.

"I should be able to find Ziotea on my own from here. No need to follow me this time," he said good-humouredly. He turned to go, but when a thought came to him, looked back. "Fionna... please do not speak of what you saw. I know that your family lives a solitary life, but my method of dealing with my... my illness... isn't quite acceptable, not by others, nor by my own standards. It... extends the illness, in a way. So I would feel more at ease if you gave your word that you wouldn't speak about it or question it." Once more, he made to leave and then twisted back.

"I... thank you for accompanying me. I appreciated it."

Oren inclined his head towards her, before finally moving away. It didn't take long for him to locate the room Ziotea and Rose were in - the heated exchange they were having. It was muffled, but he managed to catch the last of Ziotea's words.

"...of here. Go tend to your nursemaid. If she dies, the choice won't be yours any longer. It'll be mine."

His brow creased in a frown, but he composed his expression and gave a light knock on the door before opening it. He took the scene in briefly, noting the metal shards scattered around the room. Ziotea's power. Rose stood closer to the door, so he could assume that the discussion either hadn't been going on long, or it was more confrontational than Rose would have liked.

"Perhaps it would be best if you went to your grandmother's side, Rose. Whatever the two of you have been talking about, I don't think it goes anywhere desirable."

The young girl opened her mouth to speak, to snap a retort - but Oren held up one hand telling her to be quiet, and with his other, pressed Essa's catalyst into her hands, though he made sure that Ziotea didn't see the latter. Either in rage, confusion or shock, Rose left the room. With that done, he turned to his companion.

"Should I ask what that was about?"

Ziotea glanced up at Father Oren's voice, but didn't bother to watch the exchange between him and Rose, instead looking over the beds to make sure no metal shards lingered where they might impale the unwary. She felt only relief that the child had gone, and did not look up until she was addressed. "A disagreement of opinion, and of faith," she said, returning most of her attention to her task. "A few unpleasant and perhaps unkind truths. Don't worry, I've no intention of overstepping the bounds of our welcome here." She finished with the first bed and moved to the second. "She thinks the forgotten remnant might be a better master than the one she already worships. I think it's foolishness either way, but she can do as she likes."

She fell into silence until she was satisfied that she'd found all the stray bits of metal, tossing the handful of shards she'd gathered into the corner with the others, where they rang in a tuneless jangle. "I have questions, Father Oren. I've always had questions, but now...the things I understand are a tiny shelter against the blizzard of unknowns. You realize, of course, that we're obligated to report them. Report...all of this. Except, if the Church knows she's here, as Essa claims, why did they let us come at all? Should we not have been permitted in the first place? If it was Leviathan's Aspect interfering, just how much of this was its doing, and what will the Church have to say about it?" Ziotea frowned at the third cot and went to look that one over as well, just to have something to do with her hands. "I can't imagine they'd be pleased with us, even if this was an Aspect's meddling. I'm not sure I understand why the Church would leave Essa here but hide all mention of her -- and I can't think they'd want us knowing about her, if she's something they've tried to cover up. There's a great deal the Church never tells us, of course, but it's never seemed like it would be an issue...until now."

---

"This one's going to get herself killed."

In the distance, with the morning sun shining down on them, Tatiana and her demon raced across the ice, heading straight to the glacier, and to the enemy.

"That fool!" Astraea grunted as she took up her spear. Beside her, Galahad turned to face the chaotic battle that was taking place behind them and ordered Elisheva and Cillian to take care of the remaining demons. At this rate, Elisheva and Cillian would survive the swarm if they kept to Galahad's strategy.

"Galahad... What is she doing?," Astraea asked, turning to him. Stray shards from the demons' armor had left various small cuts across the battlemage's face, streaking his sharp features with blood. As Astraea looked at him, she couldn't help but grin. Finally, he looked a Lanostran warrior, and not some prince out of a child's fantasy.

When she looked into his eyes, the R'heon's wry smile disappeared from her lips. She could feel his heart. His fear and anger. His closest friend was racing off towards certain death, and Galahad was all too aware that he would not be able to reach her before the first blow was struck.

"You must help me get to her. Just as in the practice yard," she told him softly. He nodded in return, and that was all that was needed.

Readying her spear, Astraea knelt down and focused her ether, then in one swift and practiced motion, she pushed up with her knees, expelling the ether collected in the muscles of her legs. In that instant, Galahad unleashed a blast of telekinetic force at her feet, catapulting her into the air. Astraea took one last look at the battlemage as she began her ascent and watched as he continued his advance towards Tatiana without a moment's hesitation. For all his extraordinary gifts, Galahad's ability to manipulate his own ether was lacking, and thus he could not augment his own physical abilities to the extent of others in the warband.

As the wind and snow blasted past her, Astraea aimed her spear downward. The arc of her jump would drive her straight into the demon who sat on the central throne, the massive knight with the greatsword.

Beneath her, Terviclop's hooves crushed the ice beneath as it rushed forward. The R'heon was directly over the demon and its master now, and she could sense the demons' pulsing fury within her own heart. It was anything unlike she had ever felt, this demon's anger. Did this same anger course through Tatiana as well?

Suddenly, Astraea caught sight of something bright gleaming in her vision.

A massive lance, cut of black frost, cut through the wind as it sped toward her. In the distance behind the colossal projectile, Astraea could glimpse the massive armored lancer, a second lance reforming in its hands. Its hollowed eyes were staring into her own.

Time seemed to freeze. The black lance was inching closer and closer, the point of its head gleaming with the cold light of the morning sun. In the second before it reached her, Astraea shifted her body and adjusted her spear, summoning every ounce of Omestrian ether swimming in the vials at her belt and guided the gleaming torrent of energy into her catalyst. A golden paling, translucent like water but hard as steel, formed around her. She gripped the spear with all her strength, her armored-fingers tightening around the shaft.

If her aim was true, she would be able to pierce the lance with her own spear tip, allowing her weapon to absorb the brunt of its force, and if Lady Lanostre was willing, her own paling to shield her from whatever magical energy was contained within the demon's projectile.

The last thing she saw was Tatiana, staring up at her.

A storm of light shone across the sky as the black lance struck Astraea's spear. Ice, paling, steel, flesh and bone exploded in a flash of blood and light as the inquisitor fell to earth, streaking the sky with crimson.

When she hit the ground, darkness began to overtake her. It wasn't until the reddened jut of bone and viscera that remained of her right arm scraped painfully against the ice that she was brought back. She lay there, the world silent in her ears save for the sound of her own ragged breathing. Astraea could feel the ground beneath her shaking with Terviclop's steps, the ice vibrating against her ruined armor. Whether the demon was approaching her or continuing his attack, she did not know.

Astraea gritted her teeth, rolled to her stomach, and pushed herself to her feet. It took some effort, but eventually, she was able to stand. A decade of training under Father Gregoroth would not allow her to lay on her back while her warsiblings were fighting.

She glanced at what remained of her arm, and took stock of the damage. The entire appendage, up to her upper bicep had been disintegrated in the magical explosion. Blood was flowing in a steady torrent from the wound, pooling on the blackened ice. She brought her left hand to the ruined appendage and focused her own pools of ether into binding the wound. Eventually, she would be able to reassemble her lost arm, but it would take time and ether she did not have. For now, she would have to settle with brining the bleeding to a stop.

Astraea could sense Galahad approaching from behind. He was running full-speed, but came to a stop when he reached her. The warleader took a moment to allow himself a quick breath before taking a cursory glance at Astraea's wound.

"Don't let that bastard hit you," she told him.

He offered her a grin and proceeded on his advance toward Tatiana.

The R'heon gritted her teeth, blood streaming from her mouth. Her magical healing did not soothe pain, but she had become familiar to it a long time ago. Her spear had been destroyed, but this also wouldn't stop her.

She summoned a spellblade and followed after Galahad.



All around her, the remnants of their enemy had accumulated across the ice, forming piles of shredded armor and torn wing fragments. Elisheva was breathing hard, the last of her ether vials falling on the ice, shattering, but a smile adorned her face. Her mismatched eyes glanced through the trench. Half of Cillian's canopy of crimson briars had fallen, but remains of demons still lay trapped in its thorns. Half a dozen of their own soldiers lay on the ground. Some were missing limbs, others wounded, but they would live. They had not suffered any casualties just yet, thanks to Father Galahad's strategy. Now, the time had come to join the three Phoenixes in their attack against the demon leadership.

"Cillian, form a column of your best sharpshooters and have them focus fire on that archer. Keep it busy. Erect an overgrowth barrier to give them cover. Have the rest of the men return the wounded to the transport. Stay with them, and focus on the aegis. It's becoming weaker," she told him.

The Omestrian inquisitor saluted and stepped toward the conscripts, where he began calling out the names of the more talented riflemen.

Just as Elisheva was leaving the trench, a soldier cried out her name.

"What is it?"

"Reverence, we are being hailed by one of the Lanostran warships," a young communications officer said. He held the communicator in his hand, the heavy equipment pack strapped to his back steaming in the cold.

Elisheva narrowed her eyes. She gazed at the Lanostran coast to the east. In the shadow of the monstrous mountain. three lone vessels stood in defiance against a blockade of eight Varyan steam ships. Even from this distance, she could see the stark crimson circles adorning the Varyan ships, and the emerald lance sigil marking the ethereal sails of the Lanostran ships.

The red-eyed inquisitor brought the communicator to her ears, where she immediately heard the sounds of a commotion on the bridge of the hailing ship. Someone in the background was barking orders, while the sounds of Lanostran cannons being armed could be heard.

"This is Inquisitor Elisheva Varo of the Varyan Church. Speak."

"I am Admiral Desdemona Phaedra, aboard the LSS Hatred," spoke a gruff voice in the thickest Lanostran accent Elisheva had ever heard. "I offer this warning to you for the sake of Master Galahad. Return to your transport. We've detected movement from an unknown fleet of vessels approaching from the south, heading inbound to the Lanostran coast. Your steam ships are not heeding our warning."

"The south?" Elisheva asked with an incredulous tone. "We've no time for your Lanostran games, admiral. There is naught in that direction but storms. Nothing can survive out there beyond the Lanostran aegis. You know this better than anyone. Now listen to me, as we speak your "Master Galahad" is in the middle of battle, and you are keeping me from aiding him. Do you understa--"

"Listen to me, girl. Our people are of the mountain, and we are of the sea. Our radars can detect ships better than your Varyan heaps of metal. A fleet of twenty unknown vessels head straight toward your ships at attack speed. In the Lady's name, I speak the truth of it. For the sake of both our people, order the blockade to assume battle formations. And in the name of your Starving God, call your people back to--"

A torrent of static exploded in Elisheva's ears, and then, silence. She stared daggers into the communications officer.

"S-Something is jamming their signal, Reverence."

"Could it be our ships doing it?" Elisheva asked, running out of patience..

"Those old steam ships? Scramble Lanostran naval comms? Impossible."

Elisheva sighed. She pushed the communicator into the officer's chest and began stomping off toward the glacier. As she left the trench, she motioned for Cillian to join her.

"What are we going to do?" the young Omestrian inquisitor asked.

"Retreat," she growled back.



By the time Galahad and Astraea reached her, Tatiana and her demon were in the middle of battle. Strangely enough, only one of the greater demons, the lancer, had engaged Tatiana in a fight. The remaining two, the swordsman and the archer, remained seated on their decorative thrones. Their hollow eyes, set in human-like faces, frozen and cracked, turned to gaze upon the two inquisitors as they approached.

What is this? Astraea thought as her eyes took in what was happening.

Tatiana's black hair was wet with perspiration and blood, and the young inquisitor was doing everything in her power to avoid the lancer's attacks while firing at it with her rifle whenever she could. Her demon had managed to carve off sizable chunks from the lancer's armor with its spear, but the demon had sustained grievous wounds during the battle. One of its horns had been cleaved off, and huge swaths of blood stained its fur. It couldn't have been long since the battle had started, but in that short time, both Tatiana and the lancer had managed to hurt one another.

There was a strange, almost ceremonial cast to this battle. The archer and swordsman, looking on as Tatiana and her demon clashed against their companion... It reminded her of the training yard. It reminded her of a duel.

Galahad didn't seem to share this sentiment. He stormed forward, blasting a spell at the lancer. The spell hit clean, striking the lancer's breastplate, cracking it further. In the next instance, the lancer was on Galahad, the wound seeming to anger it. It leapt and thrust down at the inquisitor with its massive lance.

The warleader, so used to fighting larger opponents, saw the strike coming from a mile away, and swiftly rolled out of the way, firing six quick rounds at the lancer in quick successions with his rifle-blade.

Astraea stole a glance at the archer and swordsmen, who both continued to sit still, their great weapons of ice leaning against their thrones. Seeing that the two were not going to attack, Astraea sensed an opportunity and stormed the lancer, her emerald spellblade arcing through the air in a violent crescent, striking down at the frost knight, severing one of its wings. To her surprise, a strange sort of shearing noise escaped the lancer. Was it... grunting in pain?

At that moment, there was movement in the corner of her eye. Astraea turned to face the two knights on their thrones.

They were... clapping. The sound of their frozen gauntlets clashing together was torment on her ears, but the two didn't seem to care. They appeared... human in their gestures, but frozen, their movements mechanical, with the sound of cracking ice accompanying them. The two seemed to be enjoying the "duel", or, at the very least, the lancer being injured.

The lancer then lowered its spear and turned away from Galahad. It then proceeded to kneel before the swordsman and archer, leaning on its spear, its head bowed in what appeared to be deep reverence.

"Tatiana... What... What is happening?" the R'heon asked the summoner.

---

The cold felt so... desolate the further and further she advanced. It wasn't the usual feeling, no. She didn't hate the cold— not now. Instead she only felt that desolation. It was like she was running right into the embrace of death. There wasn't pain, only fatigue, hopelessness.. And desolation...

***

Nothing occupied Tatiana's mind in her guileless charge. At times, she was even oblivious to the presence of the massive creature bull rushing their opposition, her intent instead only focused on the monolithic masses that remained upon their thrones like false idols of the glacier. Of course, that thought restarted the young inquisitors thoughts. Maybe they weren't false idols. Her attention was shot elsewhere as the lance of one of the triumvirate of colossal beasts launched through the air at the behest of the statue that gripped it. Tatiana could sense an immediate reaction of the Terviclops to prepare a defensive measure, but all that was nullified when the symbionts realized that the racing projectile would far overshoot them. But who was it aimed at?

Tatiana's gaze rose up, though she never broke her tempo. Whenever she slowed, she would feel the prehensile tail of the Terviclops urging her onward, but what captivated her above certainly had her slowly for a moment. Astraea soared across the sky just above her and her companion, cutting through the air like she had been blasted from a cannon. That certainly had Tatiana nearly skidding to a halt, but she found herself moving again as the lance of the eerily human creature surged through the air to meet Astraea mid-air. Tatiana brought a forearm up to shield her eyes as the combination of kinetic and magical energies met and then bursted into a visceral cloud of blood, force, and light. For just one moment, Tatiana thought of her fallen comrade. What could have become of Astraea? The battle cry of her Terviclops swiftly redirected that focus and Tatiana's grip around her rifle tightened. The core of the Glacier's defense was only so far, and Tatiana could pick out in the thick of the wintry weather that one of them had stood with its weapon held firmly against the advancing pair: The lancer...

***

There was no inhibition in the young girl's form. Nothing held her back. In a way, she was akin to the elephantine brute that ran right along side her. In a way, the two of them weren't all that different from the titans they marched towards. In her mind, no distinction was made. None was needed. There on the Glacier, everyone— everything— was the same in the eyes of the inevitability that awaited them all. There wasn't man and demon on the Glacier. There weren't killers, T'saraen scientists, and scared little girls. There were just... Ghosts. Everything and everyone was a ghost in her eyes. What more could she count on? What else mattered in the desolation?

***

Its demeanor was odd... No, wrong. As Tatiana neared the lancer didn't set its weapon against her or her companion. Instead, the creature found itself standing at an idle attention. It was ready for battle, Tatiana could tell that much, but it awaited its opposition. No projectiles were thrown. It wasn't preparing a charge. It was just... standing, and it held a certain respect and reverence. It was a soldier. The soldier that would soon oppose it could recognize that much herself. The lancer demeanor make have shaken her resolve, but Tatiana would not falter in her actions. It seemed that even in such trying times, her own will was all that she could rely on, and it was time for her to enact just that. The two opposing forces would clash in only meters.

"Terviclops, overhead sweep!" With the order given, Tatiana shot right, aiming to arc wide around the two clashing demons to get herself a clear view at the lancer while her companion held the frontal attack of the lancer. As she raced outward, Tatiana witnessed her Terviclops heed her words, whipping its massive weapon low before allowing it to whirl above its head and crash down towards the lancer. It's reaction halted Tatiana's step briefly. Its covered right arm rose up as if seeing the future, to clash with the neck of the attacking spear. In the same motion, the demon used its free arm to thrust its spear straight towards Tatiana's marauding ally. The accursed howl of the Terviclops must have been heard around the entire battlefield as the lance carved straight through its shoulder. The lancer wasn't finished yet either. The defending hand jammed itself forward to push back Terviclops before the lancer contorted its body towards the inquisitor, swiping down with its palm to strike the rifle from Tatiana's hands as she went to aim. She was left stunned with a thousand questions, but all seemed to be answered as she caught a glimpse of the demon staring straight back at her. They locked eyes, if only for a moment, and what Tatiana saw within them was not a mindless automaton. Had it understood her order?

She was unarmed. The rifle had been ripped from her grasp and strewn across the ice. Tatiana could only imagine her weapon was cracked or otherwise dysfunctional, but she didn't have much time to ponder the concept. The summoner struggled for ideas as she dived for her bayonet in the snow. She could feel her opponent's massive weapon looming over her and striking out, but Terviclops shielded its master with the fervor of its eternal pain. The lancer swung its weapon low at a wide angle to smash into Tatiana's form, but the Terviclops found itself matching its enemy's speed, smashing a foot down on the lance and curbing it into the ground. This gesture of sacrifice left Tatiana's companion entirely open however, and it was only a moment before the lancer threw its weight against the Terviclops to shunt him back. In the next second, things seemed to move at light speed.

The lancer went to re-grip its weapon for another strike at the opposing demon, but Tatiana launched herself up from her knees. In one fluid motion, her bayonet was thrust into the gargantuan creature's hand and ripped as best as Tatiana could through its glacial flesh. The futility of her strike served only as a distraction, though. Tatiana knew that, and the repercussions came near instantly as the demon rocked its arm directly into the inquisitor's gut launching her to skid across the glacial surface. The inquisitor only halted as her head smashed against a protrusion of ice. A ringing overtook Tatiana's ears and for a moment she could only watch as her companion stood toe-to-toe with the lancer. It whipped its spear with all the might of its still good arm, but even its reckless speed was matched by the armored demon. Tatiana's eyes rose just in time to watch the lance shoot high and the Terviclops duck low, but not low enough. The extreme precision of Tatiana's opponent was perfectly shone as the tip of its armament cleaved off half of the Terviclops' horn. Tatiana let out a yelp, but it was entirely drowned out by the raucous rage that was evoked from the splitting lungs of the Terviclops. There was a torn look in the fallen inquisitor's eyes as she watched her partner stumble back from the lancer and writhe in pain, jumping and flailing with reckless abandoned. The lancer didn't advance. Instead, it turned towards Tatiana, maintaining a base stance. It waited...

***

There on the Glacier standing among the ghosts, something was awakened within her: dormant memories, and they confirmed her disposition. They came in flashes. The snow, the ice, the looming monolith in the distance; it was all the same. She saw the first time she laid eyes on the glacier in all its hulking permanence. She remembered the darkness it radiated. She saw the first time she came face to face with that warped demon black as shadow. She remembered the darkness she felt course through her as her final moments flashed before her eyes only to watch the creature curbed at her command. She saw the last time she would ever see her father. She remembered the darkness had caused it all. He treasured the darkness, but he never felt it. She felt it, and it felt like... Desolation.

***

Tatiana twisted her body, forcing herself to her knees and then up to her feet. A hand rose to wipe the blood from her mouth before slamming down against her hips to smash open any remaining vials of ether on her belt. The pooling liquid was guided to swarm and swirl around her hands as she locked eyes with her enemy. Her gaze would remain stuck on the soulless pits of her enemy the entire time she approached him. Tatiana moved no swifter than a walk. Their battle had no sense of urgency. It was coming to its head. The telltale black smog of the summoner poured from Tatiana's hands as she neared. After all, it took only a few steps before she was in range of the demon's massive lance. Tatiana's opposition didn't wait for her to prepare, but she didn't intend to. The demonic lancer brought back its twisted weapon in a mighty backswing that caused a whistling through the air. Tatiana didn't waver. Her gaze most of all remained taut and locked upon her enemy's visage as the darkness continued to pull around her apendages, but it was then that the weapon came whipping forward. Her hand shifted up in gesture. Finally, she spoke up.

"Halt..." It was not one demon that seemed affected by her words this time. Instead, the silence and stillness of the Terviclops was joined by another demon. Its tearing muscles seemed almost to freeze as much as they wanted to force forward. The lance was only a few feet from crushing Tatiana's skull, but she didn't react. This was the one place she had seen herself cheat death. It was time to wield her abilities as truly as she had before. She lifted a hand and pushed it towards her opposition.

"Back!" As if her gesture and voice guided her opponent, the lancer stumbled back a number of steps. For a moment, Tatiana seemed lost in feeling, recoiling from what actions she had just taken. She felt a rush. She felt unbeatable, completely unfocused on the fate of her enemy. It was then that Galahad and Astraea surged forth into the battle, Galahad smashing the lancer with a spell. Tatiana snapped out of her lost moment, readying herself to continue the fight. As the lancer and Galahad had danced between one another, both dashing attacks at their opposite, Astraea leapt into the fray. It wasn't long before her allies had finally taken the heat from Tatiana, allowing her a moment's respite. It was in that moment that the lancer's wing was cleaved off. In the next moment, Tatiana found her gaze directed towards the two remaining demons atop their throne-like edifices. They acted entertained by the bout of combat, and soon the lancer was bending knee before its superiors. Astraea spoke up, asking Tatiana for an explanation, but she had none. She did intend to reply, but as she opened her mouth to speak up, her body faltered and she inexplicably collapsed to her knees. Her eyes were still open but glazed over.

Lost in another world, the girl muttered something unintelligible, as if talking to entities that weren't there. Tatiana was completely unresponsive until Mother Elisheva and Father Cillian approached the strangely ceremonial encounter. It was then that she snapped away from her vision. Tatiana's eyes shot back to meet them as if she was completely unworried about the opposing demons that stood before the inquisitors. Elisheva spoke up first with a brief questioning.

---

_@Lovejoy

Elisheva's voice rang out from behind them. The red-eyed inquisitor, with Father Cillian trailing behind her wheezing in pain and clutching his side, slowed to a stop as they were greeted by the sight of the three greater demons and their strange ceremonial demonstration.

"What..."

Cillian's words were cut short by the sound of the three demons suddenly turning their heads in unison. They were facing southward, their black abyssal eyes gazing towards the ships in formation across the distant ice.

South of the Lanostran coast where, appearling like black shadows on the ice, three lone native ships stood against a crescent of eight Varyan vessels. Beyond them, in the misted distance, the ice storms raged unseen, hidden behind fathoms of snow and hail. Elisheva squinted her eyes, trying to peer into the swirling pale blizzards that haunted that unknown frontier.

The southern storms danced, the clouds still yet moving. Lights began flashing from within. And then, the sound of something like thunder.

"Is that--" Cillian began.

"Cannonfire..." Elisheva finished.

Streaks of pale light blasted forth from the concealing clouds, risinng in crescents through the white expanse until they fell upon the unmoving Varyan ships, engulfing them in destructive blue ether. From where they stood, the defeaning boom of engines exploding rung in their ears, deafening them momentarily. The force of the exploding Varyan ships, the winds of their annihilation, reached the inquisitors in seconds, their coats lashing back against the force of the ether explosions.

It only took moments for the destructive ether to dissipate in the unnatural cold of the frontier, leaving nothing but the smoking ruins of two of the Varyan ships upon the ice. It was then that a fleet of strange silver ships, their hulls gleaming in the sun, stormed forth from the beyond the cover of the southern storms. The silver ships, twenty in all, were smaller than the both their Varyan and Lanostran counterparts. Swift as leviathans, they glided through the frost unimpeded. To the inquisitors eyes, no ship had ever maneuvered so swiftly.

The Varyan blockade, unprepared for the coming attack, began to maneuver slowly into battle formations. But it was too late. Like the army of seraphs that the inquisitors had spent the early morning fighting, the unknown silver fleet began to swarm around them.

The three Lanostran ships, which had started maneuvering into battle formations earlier, began their counterattack. Their powerful cannons, armed with rounds composed of red ether, blasted crimson streams of energy at the smaller silver vessels, turning the ice to blackened glass wherever the rounds fell. Three of the mysterious silver ships fell to the Lanostran cannons, while the remainder of the fleet began to focus fire on the native ships.

---

"It's the Aegis... Something's wrong." Tatiana, spoke up finally with clarity evident in her voice. She had seen things— things she wouldn't understand, but that she would act on nonetheless. She looked around in a fruitless effort to locate one of her weapons. It was a futile endeavor. Both Tatiana's bayonet and rifle had been long gone. What she did find laying in the snow before her was the severed horn of the Terviclops. She reached a gentle hand down to pick it up before exhaling loudly. It was a gesture done more out of reverence than anything else. Once again, the black smoke pooled at her hands, but she didn't act on it. Instead she just stepped towards the thrones, gazing at the two unharmed demons. Tatiana didn't know if she intended to fight them. She seemed captivated by the appearance of the creatures, opting just to near them idly. She uttered one last sentence with some sort of certainty for once. For there was one thing she knew:

"Lanostre is under attack..."

Oren let out a sigh. Drawing on some ether and waving a hand, the shards of metal embedded in the wall popped out and joined the rest. He walked over to one of the beds and sat down, facing Ziotea, his hands resting in his lap. She had posed some good questions. He might as well offer his thoughts.

"One thing at a time, I suppose... the report; I would think it's rather simple. When we return, we delay making any reports for as long as possible, and we search. We have a few things to go off of, and they're simple enough. Her tea leaves - you saw Father Antonin's emblem. Start there. He and Mother Lyessa have both lived long lives - it is possible that he has records of her, some connection between them. I'll see if I can locate anything of Mother Indira's that notes her vision. You and your partner can take a look in the archives, as well."

He looked down at his hand again, and slowly, tugged off his gauntlet.

"As for Rose... she is young, but I don't believe she'd be foolish enough to pursue the Shield. She was present for Mother Lyessa's tale, just as we were. She is wise enough to realise that this Remnant only means to destroy." He paused, then added, "It probably doesn't help that we are part of the Seminary and intruders in her home."

Oren stopped, still staring at his hand. "In your vision... you say you saw a fire. In mine... I was at Sydon-Mar... and I saw a great many people, all of them... I suppose the word would be 'loving'. They looked at me with love in their eyes. As it is... I cannot say whether I felt anything in return for them." His own eyes flicked upwards, towards Ziotea. "I am Omestrian. There is no changing that, as sure as blood flows through my veins. As sure as Omestrian blood is in yours."

He cocked his head.

"I know you have cast off the idea that you have anything to do with Omestris. Your destruction of the statue earlier said as much, but know this, Mother Ziotea Elpis Phaidros. I have many things about myself that I cannot stand - nay, I detest them. They weaken me, cripple me, and I cannot rid myself of them. Believe me, I wish I could, and as much as I hate them, they are part of me. And it is the same for you. Call it a curse, a heritage you never asked for, or any other name. That does not change the truth - that it is a part of you. You can do what you will, of course, but it wasn't just Aspect One-Nineteen that brought us here. If any shred of truth is to be found in what we have been told today, then Aspect One-Seventeen had its own hand in it as well."

His piece spoken, Oren kicked his legs off the ground and turned his back to Ziotea, making it very clear he wasn't interested in how she would respond.

---

"Lanostre is under attack..." Tatiana spoke. Behind her, out across the ice, explosions were lighting up the horizon.

... And then they answered.

"You are wrong, summoner," all three of the seraphs spoke at once, their heads turning in unison to face her.

The voice that filled the air was that of a human male. It was a deep baritone, a voice honed for speaking, in an accent none of the inquisitors could recognize.

The seraphs began to tremble in place, as if they were struggling against some external force. It was to no avail, as their limbs began to contort in unnatural angles, their arms and legs snapping backward and sideways. Their frozen faces melted into expressions of torment as their ceremonial armor began to liquefy, the etched patterns on their breastplates turning to mush. Black streams of melted ice flowed forth from their hollow eyes.

Suddenly, the lancer and archer exploded in a shower of ice and mist. It was if a bomb had gone off within them. The swordsman however, remained seated on this throne. Except, it was the swordsman no longer.

The figure sitting casually on the throne with one leg draped across the other appeared human to them, but it was nothing more than an approximation of a man. A likeness.

The man seemed to be not much older than they were. Tall, with handsome features. He wore a plain black cloak, and a decorative sword hung from his waist. His every feature had been carved from the black ice of the Glacier, except for his eyes. They were red like fire. Three large birds, also carved of the glossy obsidian-like ice of the Glacier, were perched on the throne, their lifeless eyes watching on.

"I'll be waiting."

The words echoed in Galahad's mind.

This man. It was the same individual from his vision. The one who awaited him on that battlefield. Galahad had seen this man in his dreams, and here he was, not but ten feet away from him.

But the man's eyes were not focused on him. They were trained on Tatiana. His eyes, like burning rubies, were staring at her with a sad, almost mournful expression.

"Your Lanostre is important to him. Thus I would not bring harm to it. I am here only for them," the man spoke in his alien accent, lifting his chin toward the distant battlefield, where a third Varyan steamship had been reduced to a smoldering pile of iron.

"Lord Dara often thinks of you, Lady Leviatan. He remembers your days training together and looks back on them fondly. When he learned that you would be in Lanostre during the time of our assault, he despaired, for he knew that you and your companions would rush out to meet my fleet on the ice, where you would have perished along with the Varyans. As his protector, I could not let him suffer your passing."

Cillian stepped forward.

"What is this? Who are yo--"

"Glory to the T'saraen garrison, for giving their lives in service to this undertaking," the man interrupted, his gaze still focused intently on Tatiana, "Their deaths kept you here while the Varyans burn out in the sea."

He looked to the ice behind the inquisitors where dozens of motionless seraphs lay broken and shattered on the blackened frost. There was something else in his eyes then. A look of yearning. "Your Glacier is a magnificent thing indeed. I borrowed its power to create this beautiful tableau. It is but a memory of a battle that one took place on this earth, one drop in the sea of history. Your people... your Goddess, have misunderstood this tragic creature and the wealth of knowledge it possesses. No matter. Soon all will be as it should."

The man on the throne then turned his attention toward Galahad, his wistful expression hardening into stone.

"Warleader. Do not interfere in my work. Within moments the Varyan fleet will be purged from this world and my fleet will continue eastward to our destination. You and I are heading in the same direction, but I plead with you. If you value the lives of those under your command, do not follow in my path. Let this be our final meeting."

The mention of Father Antonin's seal brought a nod from Ziotea. She wasn't so sure about delaying their report, but she definitely had more questions for him. It was a shame he was in El, but perhaps Warband Phoenix would meet up with him and some of the others there, and she'd have a chance to ask then. Certainly she could take the day or so they'd have back in Magnagrad to check the archives, and go through Father Antonin's bookshelf, though she doubted she'd find anything of interest in the latter. She disliked the idea of snooping beyond that. The healer had always been good to her. She might even go so far as to call him a friend.

Her brows snapped back down when Father Oren mentioned the statue. He was wrong, wrong about her, about what she'd meant. Her feelings on her heritage were complicated, sometimes conflicting, but while it was a curse -- anything that lead to the ether factories could hardly be termed otherwise -- she no longer sought to deny that it was a part of her. But what it meant...

"I came on a whim, not because of any meddling or machinations from Phoenix's Aspect. I very nearly didn't. So if One-Seventeen had a hand in this trip, it would have had to be through you. I would not have been a reliable target." Ziotea didn't bother commenting on the visions; she'd shared as much of hers as she cared to. "When I say I am not one of you, it is because this is the truth. I have the blood, the power, the raw destructive skill. But I know of Omestris only what could be learned on the street. I know only what others expect me to be because of it. What few memories I have from when I was small are filled with Lanostran teachings, Lanostran beliefs. You're mistaken, Father Kanus. I didn't destroy the statue, merely severed it from its base. The blood is there, and I have accepted that. The blood that shows so strongly in me has made me what I am. But it did not make me one of you." She paused, her frown deepening, but left the rest of her thoughts unsaid. Perhaps she envied that connection, she who was an outsider everywhere. Who had few ties to any heritage at all. Far more prevalent was the frustration that this land held only more questions, and none of her answers.

After a moment she changed topics. "We also shall have to decide what to do about those three upstairs. I mean to confront them. I dislike being yanked around. At the least, we can determine if they are constructs or merely possessed. But perhaps we can learn more from them."

Oren’s eyes closed, and he tried to conceal his frustrations. Mother Ziotea thought he knew any more than she? Certainly, he had had the benefit of Mother Indira’s tutelage, but her lessons had always been on keeping your head down, appearing devout, and its kind. Yet of his history? His people? What the Omestrians had not destroyed, Varyans did. He knew no more than Ziotea.

“I am no more one of them than you are.” he murmured, barely loud enough for even his own ears. Ziotea certainly wouldn’t have been able to.

He opened his eyes slightly, and looked at the wall with an empty gaze.

“They may not even be there when we return. If Mother Lyessa speaks the truth, then their purpose has been carried out. If she lied... well, I certainly expect that we are going to stand in precarious places.”

Galahad shielded his face with an arm as the Lancer and Archer exploded in a shower of ice shards and mist. He heard the voice, and his voice ran colder than the glacier around him. Throwing his battle mask off and sending it clattering against the ice with a single motion, Galahad found himself face to face with him. Without a doubt, Galahad knew this man. The same man he had seen in his visions, that haunted his sleep- the visage of death that drove Galahad in his pursuit of power for the greater part of the last decade, stood before him.

"You." Galahad half breathed, half growled. Galahad's fists clenched, and he gripped at his sword instinctively. Yet he did not act just yet.

The man spoke- not to him, but to Tatiana. Galahad twitched. He was Lord Dara's protector? The way he spoke made it seem similar to the way in that Tatiana's terviclops was her protector. Was this man not in fact a man, but a demon born of the glacier? The Man-demon spoke of how he had used the death of the Garrison to lure them out to the Glacier, and to prevent them from perishing along with the rest of the Varyan steamships. He spoke in riddles and enigma, and part of Galahad might have thought that this was how Ragnar thought of him when he spoke in riddles, but now was not the time for jokes.

Finally, the demon turned to him and spoke. His ruby eyes meeting Galahad's emerald ones. Both of their faces hard as stone.

"Warleader. Do not interfere in my work. Within moments the Varyan fleet will be purged from this world and my fleet will continue eastward to our destination. You and I are heading in the same direction, but I plead with you. If you value the lives of those under your command, do not follow in my path. Let this be our final meeting."

Galahad stepped forward, his armored boot crunching on the ice and frost of the glacier, shaking with uncharacteristic anger. "Who are you, Demon? My will will not be molded by your 'warnings', and your threats against the lives of my Warband will not go unpunished."

The man's face seemed to grow even stonier, but he did not speak. Galahad unsheathed his sword violently and leveled his blade at the man.

"Answer me!" Galahad demanded, as he continued approaching the man.

Finally losing his patience, Galahad pulled the trigger on his blade. Once, twice, then six times until the cylinder cycled empty. Bullets slammed into the visage of the man, whose appearance immediately faded away as the first bullet struck, leaving in its place a plain statue of ice. Collecting the ether in his palm, Galahad summoned a stalagmite of black ice from the Glacier and sent it piercing through the frozen throne, lifting the huge ice structure partially off its base, and crushing the icey humanoid visage into shards.

Galahad breathed out a short breath before turning to the rest of his compatriots.

"Quickly, we should return home."

---

The remaining stumps of her fingers prickled with a phantom burning as Rose ducked outside of the aquarium. An empty leather bag was slung over her shoulder, and as she looked back at the dimly lit interior of Lyessa's hideout, her sunset gold eyes pulsed faintly like mirrors catching stray light. The generator that basked the underground complex with etherlight had been rigged to shut off during the evenings and thus it was pitch black outside the aquarium.

She had waited late into the night, and as Fie and Vahn snored next to her, Rose had listened as the two inquisitors finally ended their talk and retired for the evening. The arrival of the two Varyan hounds would complicate her journey. The trek to the clocktower wouldn't be without danger in the dead of night, but Rose had become familiar with every twist and turn on the path. She could navigate the ruins in complete darkness and find her way home as well.

The woman, Mother Alpis, would be able to sense the ethereal flare of Rose's spellblade, and the young girl wasn't confident that the inquisitor couldn't sense her power while she was asleep either. Thus, she brought along her old spear as a replacement for her spellblade. Not that there would be much in these ruins to pose a danger to her. All life in Iddin Mar had been snuffed out centuries ago and only ghosts prowled its streets. What worried her the most were the three Varyan soldiers from the garrison. Regardless of them being servants to some strange unknowable conspiracy or just regular Varyan conscripts, they were still dangerous.

Rose crept through the ruins slowly, feeling the biting cold clawing at her finger stumps. All around her the plants were blackened and dried, the lichen clinging to the blasted structures appearing like sickly veins spreading along the city. She had never seen the ruins like this, or worse, felt them in this manner. With Lyessa recovering from her vision, the false aegis that she continuously maintained around the ruins of her homeland was weakening, and the nascent life it restored to this dead place had been extinguished. With Lyessa's aegis fading, it was becoming colder by the minute. Rose shivered as she continued along her path, the remains of her fingers searing with imagined fire.

It was early morning by the time she reached her destination. The clocktower stood high above the ruins; its glass face, half-melted by the cataclysm that befell the capital centuries ago, still reflected the light from the blanket of stars that canvassed the night sky. Rose was freezing and exhausted, but she couldn't help but smile when she saw the scorched tower sticking out like a half-forged sword from the ruins.

The girl approached the tower, but stopped her advance a hundred feet from its entrance. She breathed in deeply, hopes ballooning within her chest, and raised her right hand in the frigid air, trying to keep it from shaking. She began to rotate it from side to side, slowly wagging her prosthetic fingers as she ignored the strange burning sensation clinging to her stumps. She closed her eyes, the world becoming a void around her, but then, she glimpsed it through her eyelids..

The light from the stars ran through the black mirrored texture of her prosthetic fingers, and the tiny veins of azure crystal within them began to pulse with a cold glow.

Moments passed before Rose glimpsed movement coming from within the blasted walls of the tower. The girl waved enthusiastically, almost bouncing on her toes, and after a few moments a massive silhouette stepped out from behind the blackened mortar. She couldn't quite see the person in the shadows, but the giant black crystal-like blade at the end of their lance emanated the same sapphire light that bloomed from her fingers. As the figure slowly turned the weapon in their grip, the light pulsed, becoming stronger and then weakening.

Rose stood there motionless, turning her head, looking across the shadowed expanse. Her heart was beginning to beat rapidly. Moments seemed to stretch to infinity, and a dark despair began to nestle itself within her stomach. That was when she saw it, a second pulse of light shining from somewhere in the east, and then a third from the west. Rose almost screamed with joy. The girl smiled from ear to ear as she began to make her way to the tower.

A woman clad in dark Lanostran plate waited on bent knees for the girl at the threshold of the tower, and as Rose jumped into the knight's arms, the armored woman hugged her tightly.

"You're here... You're really here, " Rose spoke, tears beginning to stream down her eyes.

"I promised you, didn't I?" the woman answered as she rose. The knight was taller than most men and more broad of shoulder than them as well, but despite her monstrous stature, she stood with the air and grace of a noblewoman. Her long black hair fell in thick curls across her shoulders, and her emerald eyes scanned the horizon even as she spoke.

"Princess Fionna?" the knight asked.

"She's doing well. We.. We're all doing fine."

"Has Prince Vahn recovered from his illness?"

"He has. Lady Lyessa treated him herself."

At the mention of the former high inquisitor's name, the knight furrowed her brow. Her gauntlet-clad hands clasped her lance tightly.

"This place is a graveyard that will soon become a battlefield, and yet it is the safest place for you. I loathe having to keep you here, but..."

Rose remained silent.

"What is it?"

"Lady Essa has done her best to protect us, just as you said she would. But..."

At that moment, two other knights stepped foot within the tower. Strangely, Rose could not hear them enter, even though they wore heavy plate.

"Princess! Damn is it good to see you!" a younger knight exclaimed with a wide smile. He was silver-haired, with eyes the color of pine. As he spoke, Rose made note of his several missing teeth. Beside him, an older man wearing the same dark armor greeted her with a quiet politeness.

"You've grown," the old man said with a placid if note pleasant voice. He had an aquiline cast to his features, with a sharp slanted nose and slicked black hair that was flecked with grey. His skin was a darker tone, his eyes a deep cerulean.

"Sir Symeon. Sir Ahmad. It is... It's so good to see the two of you. I... I didn't think--"

"That we'd survive Varya's hounds? Come now, little brier... Surely we deserve more credit than that," Symeon answered, flashing his toothless grin.

Ahmad gave his companion a distasteful look. "It hasn't been easy on our end, princess. There are enemies on every horizon, in every shadow."

The woman looked down on Rose, regarding her with a strange, appraising look. "And so few of us left to fight them. To Xandros, Wen, and Niobe," she spoke, nodding her head in silence. Symeon and Ahmad did the same.

The woman stepped towards a blasted part of wall and gazed out across the ruins.

"Iddin Mar is different. The weeds are black, and the cold cuts deeper than it did before. How is Lady Lyessa?"

Rose looked down at her feet. Her prosthetic fingers cut deep into her palms, settling into the scars that had long calloused into place. She remembered the inquisitor, her words, and how weak she felt.

"Two inquisitors found us. They are Omestrian. And... Lyessa received them."

"What?" Symeon responded, his voice incredulous. "How could she--"

The woman raised her hand and Symeon immediately backed down.

"The Church are not fools. They know you three are here in the corpseland under Lady Lyessa's protection. The only reason they don't hunt you down is because of that monster, Aleksandre."

Aleksandre. That name sent chills down her spine. He was the one... The one who hunted her grandparents and slew them when they tried to surrender. Her mother... He was the one who brought her to that place.

"-- But he is losing influence, and a day will soon come when the Ravenous Lord will be compelled to name a new bishop, and then nothing will keep Lyessa safe."

Lyessa. She had protected them. Taught them how to control ether. Rose had grown to love the woman in the months they had spent with her. She would die to protect her, just as she would give her life to protect her siblings, but...

"The two inquisitors... Lyessa showed them the water. Just like she did to us."

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"She... told them of the Shield?"

Rose nodded.

"Then Lady Lyessa sees something special in them," Ahmad answered without hesitation, turning to face the south. "She wouldn't warn them otherwise."

Somewhere in that distance, the two inquisitors... her enemies... slept within her family's sanctuary. The thought poisoned her.

"I have faith in Lady Lyessa, but... she is helping the enemy. She's given them the same knowledge she gave to us. I don't know what she's supposed to "see" in them, but the two of them are Omestrian and yet they fight for the empire. I... I don't know what to feel. I am angry and... I feel betrayed."

The woman placed a hand on Rose's shoulder. Though it was clad in the heavy dark plate of her warrior's sect, it somehow felt light.

"Our Gods are dead, princess. There are precious few things left to believe in. Lyessa isn't perfect by any means. She still clings to that place, even though it took everything from her. But still, she is an ember in this darkness, and if we are to endure through the long night and cast ourselves in the glory of a new dawn, we me must hold close what light we can. Believe in her, Rose, as she believed in us."

Rose looked to the woman's emerald eyes. The woman and the inquisitor were right. The Gods were dead. Omestris was dead. She wanted to keep believing, but it was proving more and more difficult. From the darkest corner of her mind, an azure circle blossomed from shadow. With little effort, she banished the thought.

Essa... She had to believe in her, and through her, she must also believe in these two inquisitors.

"Lady Lyessa... She believes that the two inquisitors, Mother Elpis and Father Kanus, were brought to her by their Aspect, or different Aspects. It's all very confusing. Anyway, they spoke of three conscripts at the Marian Gate who aren't supposed to be there. Lyessa thinks that they might be... I don't know, phantoms."

"Phantoms?" Symeon repeated, with a chuckle.

"Either that or, they're being controlled. Lyessa thinks these conscripts brought them to her so that she could warn them of... of the Shield. I don't know what they're going to do with this knowledge. One of them, Alpis, I'm worried she might try to hurt Lady Lyessa."

"Would you like us to kill them?" the woman asked, her eyes still scanning the ruined city.

Rose exhaled.

"... N-No. If Lady Lyessa thinks there is something... about these inquisitors, then... they should be left alone."

The woman gave Rose another appraising look. She couldn't figure out what the woman was thinking. Her eyes were expressionless yet cold, but not cruel.

"Make certain this reaches Lady Lyessa," the woman said, reaching into a pouch at her belt and taking out a small silver cylinder, which she then carefully placed into Rose's palm and wrapped her fingers tight over it.

"This is all of the knowledge we've managed to acquire regarding the empire's movements for the past four months. Soon, we will be ready to begin our striving in earnest."

"I'll make sure she receives your message. When... When will I see you again?" Rose asked.

"I am not certain. The Lady's Anger have moved in the shadows until now, but soon all of Varya will know our vengeance. Until we meet again, continue your training, and stay strong for your siblings," the woman said before offering the Lanostran salute to Rose and turning to leave the clocktower.

As she and her two knights walked out of the threshold, Rose called out one last time.

"Lady Leviatan."

The knight turned to face the princess.

"Veshi'maru, vashi'mara," Rose said as the first rays of the sun began their ascent from beyond the ruins.



"Are you certain you don't want any food for the return trip?" Lady Lyessa asked the two inquisitors. Mother Ziotea and Father Oren were just finishing their preparations.

"We have cookies," Fionna said, coming out of the small kitchen. There was a small basket of stale-looking cookies clutched to her chest. She approached Father Oren and lifted the basket up to him.

"Leave them alone, Fie" Rose said in a tired voice as she stepped foot into the aquarium. The girl was shivering, though she tried to hide it, and her breath misted in the heat of the etherlamps. An old leather bag filled with what looked like herbs and vegetables was slung over her shoulder.

"Where were you, Rose?" Vahn asked as began to make the table in the dining area behind them.

"Getting breakfast," she answered.

"At night?"

"Yes. Now hurry up and get these in the soup," Rose said, throwing the bag at Vahn, who then proceeded to drop it. The boy scurried as the vegetables almost spilled out of the bag, but managed to recover with some measure of grace. He then ran off into the kitchen.

Rose eyed Mother Ziotea for a brief moment, too exhausted to regard the inquisitor with any emotion, and so she just stared, before turning to Oren.

"I wish you both a safe journey," she said before retreating to her room.

Lyessa watched the girl run off with a bemused expression.

"One day you will have the fight you want," she told Ziotea. "Hopefully she will be a bit stronger by then," she said with a chuckle.

She then turned to Oren and offered him a mischievous grin.

"You were meant to keep this, you silly boy," she said, reaching into her cloak to retrieve her catalyst. The small glossy black diamond rolled around in the center of her palm. Oren could see his face in its reflection.

"When an enemy loses their weapon, you don't just go right up and hand it to them again," she added with a disapproving look.

"Seems like Old Antonin and the lad without a face aren't teaching you what's truly important. If you two ever wish to learn from a true inquisitor, my door is always open."



As Mother Ziotea and Father Oren left the underground complex, they found the morning colder than it had been the previous day. A fresh blanket of snow had fallen over the ruins. Whatever force had kept the snow from reaching the ground seemed to have been extinguished. The snow had built up over the night, covering the dark buildings and ruined streets in a way that, if one urged their imagination just so, made the city look as though it hadn't been brought low by catastrophe, but instead like an ordinary city in the nobler provinces of Magnagrad. As they made their way through plazas and empty boulevards, they passed by statues covered in frost. The ruined statues appeared like pale figures in the morning sunlight, their blackened and twisted forms hidden under the snow.

When they reached the bridge with the statues of Omestris and who they now knew to be Her hated twin, Asherahn, the two of them could see the sunlight ripple over the coursing river below. The sound of the rushing water still seemed alien to their ears. Huge swaths of ice had formed over the water, and in the reflection of the icy river they could see the reflection of the two statues. Just for a fleeting second, the statue of Asherahn seemed to shine blue in the churning of the river.

The city of Iddin Mar...They had glimpsed its beginnings within the vision Lyessa had shown them. If Iddin Mar had been built before Omestris' betrayal of Her twin, had he been worshiped in this place as well?

Lyessa had spoken of a civil war fought between the worshipers of the twin deities. Its conclusion saw all memory of Asherahn erased from the annals of history. But the night prior the two of them had heard his name spoken from the lips of a living Omestrian. The Shield was alive and well, or at least, his memory was. If Lyessa was right, He was influencing Aspects to grant visions of his power to young Omestrian inquisitors. And if the old woman could be believed, the three conscripts, Seminov, Veena and Mikhail, were involved somehow.

The elevator leading up to the Marian Gate lay ahead of them. This is where all of this had began, where they had ordered Seminov to leave them before setting off into the ruins.

He was nowhere to be found.

Ziotea checked her bag one last time and settled her shield over it. She'd learned a great many things in the ruins of Idden-Mar, yet all she had was more questions. She'd slept little the previous night, and the few hours she'd gotten had been spent dreaming of fire -- not the angry, devouring flame from her vision at Culmination, nor the protection of the blue ring, but something of gentle warmth, like the heat from Rodion's forge or the welcome pressure of his presence. She turned her thoughts away from both fire and friend, and headed back to the main room.

Everyone was there save Rose, who arrived looking cold and tired. The boy seemed to accept her explanation for where she'd been all morning, but Ziotea was suspicious. Tired might be explained by wariness, an unwillingness to sleep when there were enemies nearby. But the chill...she knew how to use her ether. She would be able to form a paling of some kind. The girl must have been out in the cold for some time -- and why would the little misfit household keep their food so far from their center of operations?

The small Inquisitor returned the girl's gaze with narrowed eyes, her suspicion visible. She didn't bother returning the farewell.

"Perhaps, a long time from now, she would be worth fighting. For now...if you want her safe, keep her far away from me. If I encounter her without you present, I will kill her." There was no hate in her voice as Ziotea turned away from Lady Essa, just cold fact and perhaps a bit of regret. She paused, thinking, letting her thoughts rest elswhere than the words exchanged by Essa and Father Oren. The old woman had answered few of her questions, though she'd given the young Inquisitor a place to look for information. Ziotea didn't know how much time she'd have for research before she had to leave for Cero -- and Rodion--, and Warband Ifrit was not going to be the most important thing on her list. It would have to wait.

Certainly she still didn't trust Lady Essa, and yet...the woman had told them things kept quietly secret for generations. Things about a heritage that, while she felt no kinship to the people that claimed it for themselves, was still a part of her, and a part she knew so little about.

"You asked my name yesterday," she said abruptly, making her decision as Father Oren came to join her near the door. "I said Elpis -- which is part of my name, but as I'm sure you surmised, it's not what I'm called." She turned around, wanting to see how Lady Essa would react. "I am Ziotea Elpis Phaidros, daughter of Adrestia." The last component was something her caretakers had always highlighted, though she didn't really know why. It was probably a Lanostran thing. Regardless, she gave her name as...perhaps a sign of respect. Whatever Lady Essa was, the woman was strong, and Ziotea had learned that strength corresponded to power.

She wondered, as she walked away, if she would ever dare to return, perhaps even take the woman up on her offer. It was a question for the future. For now, she had other things to think about.

The wasteland's piercing winds sounded diminutive in comparison to the thundering echoes of war on the horizon. Varyan steamships grinded themselves to pieces, but all the squad of inquisitors could hear was the groaning of steel as the hulking beasts gave out under cannon fire. It was the thunder of these blasts that carved its way into the Black Glacier— not the primal cries of dying men and women, disregarded in their individuality. No singular entity was noted. The enemy cared only for their mass identity. So it would be all of them that fell that day.

It was in spite of the unheard baleful calls of fallen soldiers that Tatiana's focus lied elsewhere. Just as mechanically as the seraph statues had swiveled to view her, Tatiana curbed her gaze to stare into the desolate eyes of her once opponents. It was that sort of response— one filled with desolation— that she echoed back to the creatures as the twisted into their own aberrant forms. The summoner didn't even appear to flinch as the two flanking demons shattered into fractured patterns of glacial shards. She had seen too much already. Too much death. Too much loss. Too much trouble. Too much desolation...

It was in the shadow of death that Tatiana's bleak gaze met that of her adversary's remote eyes. The few words he uttered spoke volumes to the fell summoner. Piece by piece, Tatiana constructed a picture of her own shadowy adversary. In her mind, the girl forged her own image of the enemy, but it was an enemy she would have never expected. As the last demon standing spoke, more memories rushed back into her mind. The days of her training as a summoner— the grueling hours spent in constant struggle, and it was all done with one man by her side. He was gone. He left their cause for his own deranged visions of better futures. He may not have been a puppeteer of the red-eyed demon, but he was behind the scenario. Tatiana could discern that much.

Tatiana found herself too locked within her own mind to concentrate on Cillian's woeful display of lashing out at the demon. Everyone's cards were already splayed out. There was no sense in fighting further. Tatiana knew that much. It wasn't until the red-eyed puppet set his ruby eyes upon Galahad. His hollow words met Tatiana with just as much hollow and impassive power. She stared idly ahead, pondering the fate of the Varyans. Something was off, though. There was something missing inside her. The toll of death was absent from her being. No heart-wrenching pangs of pain. No cold-running blood sending strange shivers throughout her limbs. All that remained within Tatiana was that hollow, desolate energy. For a moment, she thought she had lost her drive entirely, but then revelations began to reach her.

Perhaps it was Dara that killed—

The echoic shattering sounding from the demon being fractured into its base materials shook Tatiana from her thoughts. Her empty eyes settled upon the effigy of ice— now nothing more than just that: ice. Galahad was the one to speak up and offer guidance. It was time to flee. With that idea, Tatiana looked towards the crumbling Varyan masses. It was time to leave them. Perhaps this would be the last time Tatiana set her eyes upon the mass grave. Perhaps not, but she had a feeling. The inquisitor dropped her head to view her crimson-ridden hands, still grasping the horn of her friend enclosed in one of her fists. She didn't really have any goals in mind, but Tatiana had been growing cold towards the idea of her warband's imminent journey. This encounter had changed her, though. Something awakened within her. It was like a warm sensation ripping through her being and flaring up to give her cause. She wouldn't know the word for it.

She had to go after him... For one reason or another.

"We need to make haste." Tatiana nodded to Galahad as she spoke, struggling her way over to his side before pushing on into the glacial winds.

Oren watched after Rose as she walked away, absently holding a cookie in his hand. The girl's story didn't quite click, but who was he to suggest she was lying? Maybe he was just overthinking it.

"One day you will have the fight you want," Essa was saying. "Hopefully she will be a bit stronger by then,"

Ziotea's reply was expected - he knew half of what she would say before she said it. "...If I encounter her without you present, I will kill her."

Oren flinched slightly. She was stronger than he was in her convictions, he had to admit. He didn't dwell on it further, as Essa turned to him, holding her catalyst as though it was a stolen toy or its ilk. His gaze lingered on it, but eventually, he lifted it to meet the woman's.

"If I thought less of you, Mother Lyessa, perhaps that would be true. As it is, I returned it because I respect you. I would not fight an enemy disarmed when I respect them - and I sincerely hope that we never come to blows. We are outmatched, but only just, I think."

He cast a curious glance at Mother Ziotea when he joined her, and she revealed her name. Of all things, that was not something Oren expected. Perhaps he didn't understand people as well as he thought. Still, as she turned to leave, Oren emulated what she had done, inclining his head in imitation of a bow.

"Oren Kanus, son of none. We appreciate what you have done for us."

He then turned and jogged after the shorter woman. His mind was already drifting toward what he would need to do when they returned... time was short, and he would need to work fast if he had any hope of verifying what they had been told.

Except it jolted back into position when Oren saw that something was amiss. Andrei Seminov was not there. Maybe time was not of the essence after all.