Besca paused, something like restrained relief passing through her, before she shook her head. “[color=gray]No, no you shouldn’t,[/color]” she said. “[color=gray]He’s been dead for two hundred years.[/color]”

She brought up another picture of him, this one much more in focus. He stood in a group of seven, five men and two women. He and the young man beside him seemed to be close in age, and looked quite similar to each other, though the other man had longer hair, and was the only one in the photo smiling, aside from one of the other older men. 

“[color=gray]Eain iofkin Aridea. He was heir to the empire before Aridea broke the Illun Accord. That’s his father, his mother, his uncles, his aunt, and his brother,[/color]” she said. “[color=gray]Shortly after the empire glassed Kestren, Eain turned on them. He killed one of his uncles and fled with his wife—who was the head of House Tormont. That got the Helburkan resistance going, and, really, it’s what ended the war.[/color]”

Another picture, this one of Eain shaking hands with a man who bore the Euseran flag on his uniform. They stood in the ruins of some large town. The hills burned behind them, and just at the edge of the screen was the massive foot of a Savior rising out of frame. 

“[color=gray]Helburke and Eusero pushed Aridea back to its capital on two fronts. The day the empire fell, half a dozen singularities opened up, and Modir came pouring out—nearly broke the assault. Eain pushed in and faced down his brother, Lauthric, right on the steps of the Aridean Palace. There’s not a lot of footage left from back then, but reports say he and Lauthric dealt mortal blows to each other, and Eain hurled them both into a singularity before it closed.[/color]

“[color=gray]Helburke likes to rest most of the glory on House Wolghast, for bringing the largest force to the resistance, and the country doesn’t tend to look fondly on traitors no matter the intention. But history remembers Eain as a hero, if you dig deep enough.[/color]”

She looked back down to the table, frowning sharply. 

“[color=gray]This was his Savior, [i]Dammerung.[/i][/color]”

A final picture appeared of a Modir. Tall, slim. Its mottled gray-and-black body was striated with modium along the arms, and about the chest as if to mimic a ribcage. Its flayed grin was sharp and clamped tight. Its red eyes stared ahead like it could see all of them. In its hand was a long blade with a sharp crossguard, and a fuller filled with bright, white fire.

Dahlia gasped like she'd been struck in the gut. Besca's frown curled into a grimace.

It was the swordsman.