---

Chad steeled himself for one last attempt at thwarting their escape, but it never came. Not that it particularly mattered; the imperials had broken formation and would've been easy pickings should they engage the rebels again outside, and without even a perimeter patrol to intercept them, they'd be well on their way back to Caeli before those fools managed to punch through the obstruction blocking the door. Assuming the commander didn't keel over first, anyway.

It was a wonder how the empire was winning at all if this was what they considered viable security.

The vampire still had his doubts as the teleportation spell spun itself around them, but at least it felt relatively normal once the chill set in and it was far too late for any doubts anyway. Thankfully, he popped back into existence from the void he'd been momentarily banished to none the worse for wear, though he couldn't say the same for the commander. How many jumps like that did the fragile little creature have left in him? Hopefully he'd know when to quit; that'd be an anticlimactic way to die if Agreve messed up when it counted.

The man was as insufferable as ever once he started talking, but was almost cute to see him posture even as he had to be held up by another mage. Tempting as it was to rile him up a bit, Chad had the feeling the commander would end up the moody sulking kind of mad. And after the travesty of a dinner he'd just had, some proper sustenance would be welcome regardless of whether it had been offered by one who 'didn't fuckin' know and didn't fuckin' care'. How delightfully droll.

The Eve had apparently wrested his eyes off of Dionne's girl long enough to note the other members of their little band - or he'd otherwise grown bored of her now that they were out of the line of fire - but Chad had to admit he'd forgotten about the new little mortal that had caught Donovan's attention. Honestly, he was surprised that one was still breathing; Chad had written him off the moment they stepped into the room. Rescuing him still when everything went to shit was certainly a gamble. Though, mages were sentimental like that, he supposed.

Chad let out a contemplative hum as he glanced over the assortment of little injuries he'd collected that had hadn't taken stock of before. "Not sure. I doubt he'll be of any use in the future if he does pull through, granted, but mortals can be hardy little things when they want to be." There was a temptation to prod at the body with his foot, but he dutifully resisted it. "Of course, their lack of any real ability to regenerate makes it look more like petulant stubbornness than tenacity, but... maybe he'll get lucky and enjoy a miserable little existence drooling all over himself."

---

@Bert Macklin

---

No matter what happened, even as a cacophony of noise broke out behind him, Roan did not look back; shamefully, he didn’t even look back to make sure his rescuers made good on their escape. His sole focus was putting one foot in front of the other, sprinting (to the best of his ability) as far from that place as his battered, emaciated legs could carry him. He didn’t even stop when the forest seemed to swallow him whole, as the world went black and ate all the light and sound around him. His heart shuddered, the fear gripping him that this must have been the edge of a cruel illusion and that soon he’d wake up to nothing but the fluorescent lights of his torture cell and the cruel faces of his tormentors - it wouldn’t be the first time - but not even that grim prospect stayed his feet. Instead, he laboured on with determination bordering on mindlessness, groping for the end to his nightmare. When the darkness was finally pulled away like a sheet and he wasn’t still in prison, Roan almost fell to his knees.

How he managed to stay upright was a mystery, really. He ambled inside with the rest of them, but as his new compatriots started winding down, Roan’s adrenaline still ran high; he was still ready to run at any moment, hesitant to believe that the idyllic cottage in the middle of a prairie he found himself in was real, expecting to wake up from this dream at any moment.

The Commander’s orders seemed to snap him out of it, though - or, more specifically, his orders about Dylan. Roan was incensed before he even fully registered the command - just drop him? Couldn’t he see what kind of condition he was in?! He was glad the purple-haired kid didn’t seem to listen and put Dylan gently on the ground, but a part of Roan almost wished he hadn’t. Something about seeing Dylan on the grass, his bruises and burns illuminated by moonlight and his hair singed and half-gone, finally hit home that this was real. Roan really was rescued - but Dylan really was hurt. And Marie really was dead.

Roan’s heart began to race anew, and his breathing quickened as he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Dylan’s disturbingly still form. Tears pressed at his eyes - or they would have, if he had the water for it - and he wanted to fall over his friend, start barking for the Life mage someone mentioned to come and attend to him, to tell him that he got the bastard who’d been plaguing them for so long - but nothing happened.

After a long moment of stillness, Roan flinched violently at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, whipping around fearfully to face the source only to find Lyra offering words of encouragement. The vampire he’d helped with the Inquisitor also offered a nod, and Roan swallowed hard, suddenly very self conscious. His throat stung, scrubbed raw from dryness and screaming.

Embarrassed, he offered no other input, willing himself not to look at Dylan again as he followed the Commander into the cottage.

---

What was the phrase that Benjamin continuously pattered on about? "A mortal's greatest asset was their passion?" The vampire often droned on about mortality offering a unique strength in their will. As Donovan looked down on the barely breathing mortal, however, he wondered if Benjamin would believe this mortal had any passion left in them. Whatever was left in that head probably couldn't string together a thought, let alone speak or move or anything. The more Donovan looked at whatever was left, the more he felt that he wouldn't need to waste effort into cutting the loose thread. If there was such a thing as fate or destiny, he wouldn't live through the night.

Donovan outright scoffed at Chadwick's mention of Dylan's likely circumstance should he live. A fate worse than death, that was. Perhaps he would smother the thing as a mercy.

"Tragic," he said. "Even dogs are put out of their misery instead of having to suffer."

That may have been too harsh, he thought. Donovan wouldn't linger on the topic for too long as he wanted a second opinion on the rescue. This Astorio was much like the rest, yet he seemed more composed than the variety of brutish Astorios he had encountered in other social settings. Donovan couldn't tell if Chadwick simply knew how to act outside of a fight or if there was anything more there. He would need to be more careful in the future; should he cross the Astorio in a test of strength, Chadwick had the upper hand. Getting caught by the Inquisitor would help downplay his own abilities, but he wasn't looking for a repeat session. Especially if that blond mage was all too happy to let him fry.

"The capability of the rebellion princess surprised me," he said. "As did...whatever the purple one did. Gravity magic, I believe."

@Scribe of Thoth

---

Rebellion princess, that was rich. Ryner was probably turning in whatever box the empress kept her in right about now. The girl certainly did jump into action, didn't she? Then again, he'd never known a fire mage to be shy, so he shouldn't have expected her to be a coddled moron once he'd gotten a whiff of her affinity. Though, Chad wasn't quite sure if that was what Donovan meant; he could've easily been commenting on the fact that she was evidently competent enough to trade blows with an inquisitor and not end up fried to a crisp. Her leadership skills certainly left a bit to be desired, in any case.

The purple one, on the other hand, was... quaint. Just interesting enough to note, but not noteworthy enough to interest him. Gravity magic was rare enough that he rarely considered its existence outside the context of the Grand Inquisitrix, but they all had the same gimmicks at the end of the day. The only surprise there was that little Quincy managed to refrain from wetting himself.

"Oh, you know how fire mages are," Chad offered with a dismissive flick of his wrist, "They burn bright, they burn fast, and then they either rein in their ego or they burn out. Still not sure which one our little firebird is yet, but I doubt Mommy Dearest would let her out of the castle without a hefty lecture on safety." Hopefully he wouldn't still be on babysitting duty if it becomes the latter; that'd be an earful, though it might make an interesting story when he slunk back to the empire.

"Can't say I've ever owned a gravity mage before, though I've certainly seen their tricks a few times. He's creative enough, I guess, but are they all that meek?" Maybe Caeli used him as a pack mule or something.

---

@Bert Macklin

Valafar offered Lyra an apologetic smile as the Commander tromoed his way to the cabin, waiving off the other's assistance. "I am stationed here short term at Headquarter's command. I'll be returning to run an operation I was relocated from." Valafar explained as diplomatically as possible. "A rescue mission this risky does call for some support, though it is the first time I've been stationed as a stand by rather than spearheading a team myself. However, it seems I'm entirely uncessary and isn't that great! You survive an Inquisitor's holding facility, rescued two of our own, and came out without a broken bone. A pretty successful first command, huh?"

Valafar's cheerful smile turned sharper. "So, how many of the bastards did you kill? On your way to catching up to me yet?"

The safe house was a cozy little thing as the Commander and company make their way inside. The old woman, drapped in comfortable shawls and nursing a cup of hot tea, rocked slowly on the front porch and watched Dylan with a still, unblinking stare. When she spoke, it came out crackling and dry like ancient parchemnt. "A mercy, blood spilt. A storm's fury brews, a mind sundered; no Life salvages such devestation." The woman croaked, nodding stiffly at the prone man. She spared a glance at the two following - Roan she overed a cursory inspection but there was a glint of recognition as she inspected Quinn, followed by a huff of laughter before she returned to her unblinking vigil, gaze carrying far beyond the edge of the woods around them.

Inside the sent of fresh bread and warm stew wafted around the rustic interior. Bowls, plateses, and utensils were piled up next to the stove, where a modest size pot sat covered and a loaf of bread sat on a wooden cutting block. A modest dining tallble sat in the center, under plants hanging to dry. A man in simple clothes, barely standing at 5'8, was washing his hands in a sink and turned to smile at the entering group.

"Welcome back and good job." He greeted them, laughter lines deepening as he offered a kind smile and nodded at one of two doors leading out of the kitchen. "Diana is in the living room for whoever needs to be cleared by a mind mage. Anyone who has an injury that needs tending, I'll be happy to help. Dinner finished just a bit ago so once you're healed up, you can grab a bite to eat." The man explained, patting his hands dry on a dish towel.

"We've got another outside. Helga thinks he's already dead. Fix up everyone else up and then check on 'im. If we can't piece him back together, we'll give him his last rites after sun rise." Agreve grumbled as he slumped into a chair. The life mage sighed and patted Agvere's shoulder. "Roan, mind mage now. So long as she clears you, you're good to return and we'll debrief once everyone has a decent meal in their bellies."

---

Roan shuffled mutely past the old woman muttering cryptic nonsense on the porch and into the cottage close on the commander’s heels, eyes cast blindly at the floorboards as images of his burned and beaten comrades and a million other horrors monopolized his mind. Still shackled by the ward his captors cast on him to bind his magic, he may as well have been deaf, too; the only thing he really noticed when he entered, aside from the notable lack of blood and other fluids on the walls, was the sharp pang of hunger that hit him when the smell of fresh bread hit his nose.

It was the second time in as many minutes that Roan wanted to cry. He couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d eaten something that wasn’t half-rotted or otherwise unspeakably foul, and the prospect of real food, like all of the night so far, was too good to be true. But while he was in here drooling over bread, poor Marie was abandoned in the holding facility, and Dylan was outside, dying on the grass.

It was too much. It was all too much, too fast. As quickly as his hunger came, it was gone again, morphing back into a familiar ache of nausea, his stomach twisting itself up into well-practiced knots. Roan couldn’t even bear to look at the pot on the stove; instead, hurried into the next room at the commander’s order, eager to distance himself once more from the others.

The cottage living room was as quaint and homey as the rest of the place, but Roan wasn’t overly observant of the decor. Instead, he focused on the lone occupant, a woman with short graying black hair and similar features to the man in the kitchen, who paced about the floor with a metal rod in her hands.

“Hey,” Roan croaked, skipping the pleasantries to seat himself on a couch. He gasped quietly as he sat down, both pained and grateful as he sunk into the first soft thing he’d touched in months.

But the pleasure was short-lived. He didn’t look at Diana. If he did, he knew he’d lose what little courage he had left. They both knew what was coming next, and that it wouldn’t be pleasant. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his unburned temple, gesturing to himself with his free hand. “Just fuck me up.”

---

---

Whatever amount of coziness the cottage might've inspired was lost on Quinn as he trudged his way inside. In a better state of mind, he probably would've found the absurdity of the situation amusing, but right now, it just made him uncomfortable. Strange people he didn't know, some cryptic old woman that looked at him like she'd seen a Contarini before, a complete and utter lack of concern for the people he'd almost died to bail out of an imperial prison; nothing about this safehouse felt safe.

Despite his weariness, he startled a bit as the life mage greeted them inside. The positivity was a whiplash from the way the commander had greeted them, and he'd even bothered to be the first to congratulate them. The food on the stove didn't sound any more appealing now that Quinn beheld it for himself, but the smell in the air gave him hope his appetite would return soon, lest he have to force down the food out of sheer necessity. Of course, the moment was ruined as soon as the reality of the situation returned. Right, a debriefing. He'd hardly have a chance to catch his breath before they'd be ruthlessly evaluated on every catastrophe that happened inside the walls of that detestible prison. Quinn should've expected it, he knew well that breaks were a reward for exemplary performance and he was simply not satisfactory back there.

Of course, it could've been worse. Quinn bitterly wondered if he'd be in the same position as the prisoner on the ground had the inquisitor actually managed to wound him. They seemed to think he was already dead, but they could've at least bothered to check first with precious seconds potentially ticking by. Last rites, what a joke; a few words over a corpse wasn't a consolation, he was already dead. If they weren't going to try and save his life, they least they could do is throw him away without the hypocrisy.

Quinn hesitantly collapsed into a chair at the table for lack of a more comfortable place to sit. The living room sounded inviting, but the mind mage had evidently commandeered it to evaluate the prisoner and that poor man had likely been through enough without Quinn gawking at him during the invasion of his brain, even if Quinn himself would likely not even be lucid for it.

"I'm fine. Not hurt," he repeated for the life mage's benefit as he gripped the side of the table in an attempt to still the trembling of his hands, "Focus on someone more important than me."

---