In the end, she had chosen Alphinaud first. Would that he could overhear her reasoning, and not only her footfalls against the pale sand that lined the shore like an undisturbed blanket of dust. Perhaps it was simply that Szet had more trust in Alisaie’s ability to survive unaided than in her brother’s; the Exarch could not have questioned that logic. She had accompanied Alphinaud on the journey through the wilderness of Coerthas and Dravania – he had confirmed that tale with the lad himself – and perhaps that was enough to tip the scales of her protectiveness in his favor.

Whatever her motives, they had brought her to a sandy bluff overlooking the coastal plain, where she stood as still as the listless sea air, gaze fixed on something far away. Little more than the woman herself and her immediate surroundings were caught within the mirror’s field of view; to widen its ‘lens’ would require more of his energy than the Exarch dared waste. He could easily imagine the bleak vista before her, foothills sprawled from the shore to the edge of the cliff that sheared the horizon. Above the splintered corpses of ships long drowned and the debris of human misery huddled against its gates, Eulmore’s towers sparkled brilliantly. Even now, bleached like the bones scattered across it in shallow and undug graves, Kholusia remained beautiful.

Szet stood there for some time, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Did she, too, feel small beneath that pitiless white sky?

Eventually, the furrow of her brow deepened, and she began to walk – toward Stilltide, the Exarch surmised, a guess which was soon proven correct. Rather than entering directly, Szet spent a few minutes circling the perimeter of the village; in truth, it was little more than a handful of dilapidated shacks. One of them, a dingy structure that had only a shaky claim to being called a tavern, caught her attention.

The door was made up of more creak than wood, and loudly announced her presence as she ducked beneath the beam and stepped inside. Across the small room, a woman sat behind a roughly-hewn bar, her hands busied with a needle and thread. Her eyes were cautious as she surveyed her guest. Kholusia received few visitors these days, and a village like Stilltide fewer still. “Well, hello.”

“I’m looking for a boy.” No pleasantries to spare, it seemed. “White hair, long ears. Too kind. You know him?”

“Too kind?” the woman repeated, raising her eyebrows. “You must mean Alphinaud.”

“I need to find him.”

“Why?” The woman stopped what she was doing, her eyes sharpening with unveiled suspicion as she stared back at the stranger now occupying her tavern.

Szet was silent for several long seconds – puzzling out her own answer, or surprised to be asked at all? “He’s a friend,” she concluded, eventually. “He shouldn’t be alone here.”

“You aren’t from Eulmore, are you?”

Szet shook her head.

“The Crystarium?”

“Passed through. Do you know where he is or not?”

After a few moments of consideration, the barkeep conceded with a quiet sigh. “The lad came by this morning. Didn’t say where he was going. If I see him, I suppose he’ll know who was asking?”

Her eyes flicked up and down the other woman, highlighting the obvious even as she avoided mentioning it: even at a glance, Mahiwa Szet was unmistakable. Someone so distinctive in appearance could not fail to leave an impression – if not for her imposing stature or intimidating aura, then for the striking gray of her skin and the unusual spots of darker charcoal that marked her complexion like spilled ink. (Never mind the ears, which easily added another unneeded fulm to her height.) Even half a description would be enough to identify her.

Szet considered this in silence. Before she determined what would come next, the pause was broken by another voice.

“Mahiwa?”

Szet’s head snapped to the side, sending her thick braid of dark hair swinging through the air behind her.

In the doorway, Alphinaud stood wide-eyed. Before the surprise had faded from his face, Szet had crossed the room in what seemed like a single stride, dropped onto a knee, and wrapped her arms around him, the boy’s slim shoulders disappearing into a tight hug.

“I had no idea you were – ah,” he let out a soft huff, perhaps squeezed out of him by the embrace, and fell silent. When she finally let go, her hands moved to either side of his face instead, holding him still as she studied him with wide, serious eyes. Her gaze was no less intense than the one that had pierced the Exarch hours before, but Alphinaud showed no hint of alarm – only shock and a growing smile of disbelief.

“When did you arrive?” he asked, incredulous, reaching up to tug at her wrists. Although he couldn’t have hoped to break her grip, she let her hands fall away, but her eyes remained locked on him.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine. So are Alisaie and the others. Ah, Mistress Theva –” he said, turning his head to address the barkeep, who had stopped her work to watch the scene unfold.

“I’ll let you two talk,” she answered, rising from her place behind the bar. “Least I can do, after your help last time.”

“Thank you.” His voice was full of gratitude. The door creaked closed behind her as she departed, leaving the two of them alone. Szet acquiesced to a nudge against her shoulder, and rose to her feet to follow him to one of the two roughly-hewn tables that served as the tavern’s only furniture.

“Earlier,” she said once seated, in answer to the question she had apparently not completely ignored. “A few hours ago.”

“You’re no worse for wear from the summoning, I take it?” Alphinaud gave her a glance over, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, but seemed unsurprised to find her undamaged.

One of Szet’s shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Fine. You’re alright?” She frowned, studying his face as if searching for something she had missed. “Really?”

He gave a breathless laugh that didn’t quite manage amusement; the weariness in his voice drew something tight inside the Exarch’s chest. “Yes, Mahiwa, really. As well as can be here. The Exarch explained the situation to you…?”

Her frown deepened. “The Exarch.”

(Elsewhere, their eavesdropper couldn’t help a mirthless chuckle of his own.)

Alphinaud gave a snort. “Went that well, did it?”

“He’s got some stones to stand there and look me in the eye after he took you,” she answered darkly. “All of you.”

“You – you didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“I told him I’d listen to what you had to say.”

“Mahiwa?”

“No, I didn’t hurt him.” The roll of her eyes was audible.

Alphinaud let out a quiet breath of relief, easing back against his chair after he’d stiffened in momentary concern. “Alright, good. Please don’t.”

“Why?”

There was a pause as Alphinaud considered the question – or, if the Exarch wasn’t mistaken, how best to approach the problem of his friend’s mistrust. (It was a blessing she had gone to the more diplomatically minded of the twins first.)

“...Perhaps I should start at the beginning.”

The recounting took the better part of fifteen minutes, cursory though it was by Alphinaud’s standards, and summarized the basic history leading to the current crisis and the events since the Exarch’s first inept attempts at summoning her. Throughout it, his audience sat in seemingly rapt attention, arms folded over her chest as she leaned back and listened in silence to a tale equal parts grim and fantastic. Alphinaud’s account did not, the Exarch observed with relief, dispute any of the facts he himself had provided.

“What remains unclear,” Alphinaud said, winding towards his conclusion, “is the cause for such apparent apathy from Eulmore – and how they might be convinced to aid our common plight. Whatever the reason, I mean to find it.”

The Exarch waited for him to continue, elaborating on the impenetrability of that so-called paradise, the necessity of subterfuge, the demeaning cattle show they called Gatetown and the slippery path into the city that led through it – all key components of Alphinaud’s plot. (A plot Exarch had not encouraged, futile as it was; he was all too familiar with the current Eulmoran regime’s disinclination to disrupt the status quo, and had long since moved onto more productive avenues of inquiry.)

But, to his surprise, that elaboration never came. Was Alphinaud hiding it from her? And for what reason? To forestall her likely objection, or to avoid implicating the Exarch for allowing him to proceed with it at all, or simply to avoid the need to explain the finer points of his diplomatic strategy to a brick wall?

Perhaps it was all those things, or none. It was an unaskable question – the Exarch certainly wasn’t about to announce to Alphinaud that he had been spying on them, although he wouldn’t be surprised if the lad suspected it – but his curiosity burned to know.

At least he wasn’t the only one being coy, he supposed.

Alphinaud leaned forward, resting his palms on the table in supplication or reassurance. Despite his prevarication, his face was earnest.

“Mahiwa, as glad as I am to see you… I do not think it wise for you to remain here in Kholusia.” He took care to tread gently with his words, no doubt seeking to avoid an argument. “Relations between the Crystarium and Eulmore are… precarious at best. If you were to be recognized as an associate of the Crystarium – which you surely would be, if not today then soon enough – it would jeopardize what little accord remains. Eulmore does not want for spies, even in Lakeland.”

Szet’s eyes sank down to the rough wood grain of the table in silent thought.

“Go to Alisaie, Mahiwa. You can do more in Amh Araeng in an hour than you could here in a day. And you’d only be bored listening to me talk to kleptocrats for hours,” Alphinaud added with a smile. “I promise I’ll take care.”

“Fine,” she agreed gruffly, after some consideration. “Don’t be stupid.”

The Exarch could have sworn that he saw a twitch of irony in Alphinaud’s smile at that.

“You as well. Send Alisaie my regards – although I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon enough.”

Szet nodded wordlessly, then rose to leave without further ceremony or goodbyes. Alphinaud watched her until she ducked out the door to the tavern, then let out a sigh that the Exarch suspected was relief.

As Szet departed the village, she turned to look back – not at the tavern where she had left Alphinaud or the gaudy spires of Eulmore, but at the wall of white stone that loomed over the island, shining like a mirror in the sun. A quiet shudder ran through her shoulders as she stared into the distance, before she set off towards the beach whence she had arrived not so long ago.

“Seven hells!” Alisaie’s voice rang out across the desert, cutting effortlessly through the listless breeze even from a distance. The Exarch couldn’t tell how far off she was, other than by the thirty so seconds that elapsed before she jogged into view.

Too eager to bother catching her breath, Alisaie soldiered on with a laugh: “Took you long enough.” When was the last time he had seen her wear a smile so bright? Well past recent memory.

Alisaie seemed unsurprised when Szet tugged her into a tight, wordless hug – only embarrassed. “I’m fine,” she assured, anticipating her friend’s concern. It wasn’t quite enough to fend off the stern once-over after Szet finally released her grip on Alisaie’s much smaller shoulders. (It was not quite as thorough an inspection as Alphinaud had received, the Exarch noted. He supposed it was easier to believe that Alisaie remained in one piece than her brother.)

Still, despite fidgeting with the embarrassment of a child enduring a parent’s doting affections, Alisaie’s enthusiasm seemed undiminished. “It’s good to see you, Mahiwa.”

“You’re hard to find,” Szet replied – at least inasmuch as a subsequent statement constituted a reply, however unrelated it was. One corner of her mouth had betrayed her stone-faced frown, tugging upwards in a half-smile. Her face wore the expression like a borrowed dress, unfamiliar and poorly-fitted.

“Yes, well, I’ve been keeping busy. And you managed well enough. How long have you been here in the First?” Alisaie’s tone sharpened abruptly. “He didn’t tell me you’d arrived.”

The Exarch did not need to wonder who he was.

“Two days. I saw Alphinaud.”

“And I take it he’s well, if you’re here.”

“Mm. Sends his regards. You’re here alone?” The smile was gone again, replaced by a more comfortable frown.

“Not quite. I’ve been working as a guard at the Inn.” Alisaie gestured toward the unwelcoming stone formation that housed the hospice. Although out of the Exarch’s field of view, he could picture it easily, old red stone jutting from the desert floor and holding itself up through sheer stubborn will. It reminded him of the souls sheltered there, struggling against the slow approach of fate. “Nothing too dangerous, don’t worry. No more dangerous than anything else, at any rate.”

Szet folded her arms over her chest, following Alisaie’s gaze to the Inn. Whether or not she agreed with that assessment, the point was rendered moot by her arrival.

“Finish my patrol with me, then we’ll head back,” Alisaie decided, reaching out to take Szet by the wrist and tug her along. The gesture was almost comical, given the way the older woman towered over Alisaie, but surprisingly, she let herself be towed along without protest. “You have to tell me everything.”

“Not much to tell,” Szet shrugged. In the harsh light reflected off the bleached sands, the pattern of dark spots and speckles on her skin was more legible, with one particularly large pool spilling over the strong lines of one of her bare shoulders. Had no one told her the desert was cold, or had she just refused to heed the warnings? If she felt the chill, it was difficult to tell. “Only been a few weeks since you collapsed.”

“Weeks?” Alisaie paused for a half-step to turn back and look up at Szet in disbelief. “I’ve been here damned close to a year.”

“The Garleans called a full retreat after Ghimlyt. Heard naught from them since. Nor from the Ascian. Probably in the thick of it back in the capital.”

“Hmm. Better than the alternative, I suppose.” Alisaie did not sound completely convinced. “And our – our bodies?”

“Nothing.”

Alisaie sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope for a miraculous breakthrough. Not that we would be going anywhere even if Krile had managed one. It isn’t as if any of us could just… walk away.”

Szet’s eyes had been roaming the jagged rock formations that punctuated the dunes, her watchful gaze unwavering as they spoke. It felt significant when she turned her head back to Alisaie, staring down at her through a few beats of silence.

“You believe him?” she asked, finally.

“Who, the Exarch?” Alisaie let out a soft scoff. “I don’t have to. I only have to open my eyes to know how bad it is. You’ll see, too,” she went on, tone low and heavy. “No matter where you look, you’ll find misery and heartbreak and fear. It’s hard to see anything but the tragedy of it all sometimes.”

Only the wind answered her, at least for a few seconds.

“The Source,” Szet began, then paused again, as if gathering the right words, “and the First – they’re intertwined. Rot from one tree’s roots spreading to another’s. Do you believe that?”

“I do. It all fits together too well to ignore. And if nothing else, there’s Urianger’s vision – I don’t doubt for a moment that he saw what he claims.” There was a moment of disquieted silence. “That he saw all of us die. Saw you die.”

Szet’s eyes fell away, once again sweeping across the desert, although he doubted that her attention had been broken for even a moment.

“You don’t like him,” she observed. “The Exarch.”

Alisaie gave a snort. “Yes, well, he didn’t make the best first impression. I had more than a few words about his timing.” Another smile flickered around her mouth, despite her dark tone. “I’m really glad you’re alright. I mean, of course you are, but – it took him a while to find you again, after that duel, so we couldn’t be completely sure.”

After a moment, Alisaie continued, perhaps sensing that wasn’t the answer to the question hiding beneath Szet’s words. “He’s too secretive for my liking, but that doesn’t mean I don’t trust him – for the most part. I don’t doubt for a moment that he sincerely wants to save both our world and this one. What’s left of it, anyway,” she sighed.

Szet answered only with silence.

The Exarch only realized how tightly his jaw had been clenched when that tension began to ease. He had not dared to hope for such a straightforward endorsement from Alisaie – truthfully, he had not been entirely certain what she believed of his intentions, given her less than cordial attitude towards him. The more he learned of Szet, the more of her resemblance he could see in Alisaie. Kindred spirits, it seemed.

He doubted that the Leveilleurs’ words alone would be enough to earn the Warrior of Light’s trust, but it should secure her cooperation. For now, that was what mattered most.

“Do you know what this place is?” Alisaie asked, stopping to turn and gaze at the stone formation that housed the Inn. “Why people come here?”

Szet was silent for the span of a few breaths. “To die.”

“You always had a way with words,” Alisaie sighed. “But it’s more than that. Instead of trying to explain, perhaps it’d be easier to –”

“Watch it,” Szet interrupted, voice flat and sharp.

The shift in her body language was immediate and effortless, like a wolf catching the scent of blood; it wasn’t until that moment that the Exarch realized exactly how wary she had been the entire time.

“Damn it – where?” Alisaie’s voice was unafraid but confused, head spinning to find the threat she’d overlooked.

Szet’s greatsword was already in her hands, held lowered but ready. For a few seconds, the desert seemed still, except for the sound of her boots against the rocky dirt as she slowly advanced towards a cluster of boulders nearby, until she was close enough to touch the stone with the tip of her outstretched blade.

Then, the telltale flash of Light off a pale carapace, the scratchy scuttling of too many legs, a hiss –

As quick as the eater was, Szet’s reflexes were quicker still, already winding up her swing by the time it bared its fangs. The impact of her sword seemed even more vicious than its sharp edge; it slammed down with a sickening crunch, splitting the creature in twain and leaving its scarab-like shell a crumpled ruin. Not even the soil beneath was left unscathed, marred with a deep gouge whence she withdrew the massive blade a few moments later, as she stepped back to survey her work.

“Gods damn it,” Alisaie swore, her own sword in hand as she circled around to check behind the rocks where the sin eater had lain in ambush. “How the hells did you even see that thing?”

Szet did not deign to reply, watching as the eater’s corpse began the unsettling process of dissolving back into primordial aether.

“Well,” Alisaie huffed. She sheathed her rapier once more, apparently satisfied there was nothing else lying in immediate wait for them. “Truth be told, I’d feel worse if we hadn’t found any. Makes me feel like I missed something. Where were we?”

“It’d be easier to’...?” Szet answered, without looking away from the increasingly shapeless mass of white.

“Oh, right. There’s something I want to show you, if you don’t mind another walk.”

Far from Amh Araeng, a firm hand knocked at the Ocular’s door, cutting short his train of thought. The voice on the other side was muffled by the stone. “You called for me, my lord?”

“Ah, Lyna.” The Exarch’s eyes lingered a few more moments on Szet’s face, before he cleared the image from the mirror’s surface with a wave of his hand and turned toward the door. He didn’t bother to pull up the hood of his robe as he stood; while she was painfully familiar with his penchant for secrecy, he had no cause to conceal his face from her. “Come in.”

“Sir,” Lyna greeted him as she stepped into the chamber. That was about as much informality as he could coax out of her these days, now that she was a woman grown – and captain of the guard, no less. Still, it was good to see her relax a bit now that they were alone, as much as it pained him to know he would quickly ruin it. “I was told there is a matter you wish to discuss privately.”

“Indeed.”

“Does it involve your guest?”

The undisguised disdain in her tone might have been amusing, were it not the very reason he had called her here. “It does. You will not like what I have to say, but I must say it nonetheless.”

He paused, weighing his words carefully.

“It is of the utmost importance,” he began, slow and deliberate, “that we avoid any conflict with Mahiwa Szet. You must not antagonize or provoke her, even should she break ordinances or make a nuisance of herself. No matter the provocation, no matter your justification, it is imperative that you de-escalate any tension that cannot be avoided entirely.”

His gaze was solemn as he paused for emphasis.

“We cannot afford to risk losing her cooperation. Everything depends on this.”

Lyna visibly chafed, the unhappy frown deepening on her face with each word.

“I do not think her a threat to the people of the Crystarium. Nonetheless, if you see an immediate threat to a guard or citizen, you may intervene,” he conceded. “But you are to use as little force as possible to defuse the situation, and you are not to retaliate. Let her walk away. However, if she lays hands on me – if she threatens me in any way – you are not to intervene, under any circumstances.”

“Sir –”

He cut her off before she could continue, in a soft tone that nonetheless left no room for doubt or question. “That is an order, Captain.”

Lyna let out a slow breath. Her displeasure and worry were palpable, from the tense set of her jaw to the fists now drawn tight at her sides. This was an unfair demand to make of her, he knew – even cruel. But make it he must.

Finally, after a difficult few moments of silence, she answered, through gritted teeth. “Yes, my lord. As you command.”

“Thank you. Ah, lastly – while this is doubtless unnecessary, please ensure Alphinaud and Alisaie receive the same grace from the guard. I expect Szet would respond poorly to any, ah, incidents.”

Lyna hesitated before nodding. Exempting the well-mannered twins from the purview of the guard was much easier to swallow than the prospect of tolerating a mercenary running amok in the city.

“If I may ask, my lord…” she ventured, voice grim.

He inclined his head toward her. “You may.”

“What is it about this woman that is so important? Of all those whose aid you could beg, why her?”

The Exarch sighed. It was a question he had spent a century asking himself, hoping he might find a different answer. “I cannot say, not yet.” The apology, although unspoken, was clear in his tone. “I must once again ask for your trust when I say we have no other choice.”

From her expression, Lyna liked that answer no more than he did. “Is there aught else you wished to discuss, my lord?”

“No, that is all. Thank you for your patience and discretion, Captain.”

She gave a rigid salute. “By your leave.”

As the door closed behind Lyna, he rubbed his temples, sinking back into his chair. Even after a century spent carrying the leaden mantle of Exarch, he enjoyed the burden of command no more now than when he had first shouldered it all those years ago. A throne was the last thing he – that bright-eyed young man he had once been, both student and witness to the horrors of empire – had ever wanted. It was through his own insistence that the Crystarium retained some measure of democracy under his leadership, although more seemed to view it as a perfunctory civic duty than he would like. He preferred to play the role of guide and advisor, shaping the society into which the Crystarium had blossomed rather than ruling it.

Seldom did he bring to bear the unquestioned authority he begrudgingly held. Yet he never forgot it; if anything, the constant knowledge of that absolute power made him all the more reluctant to exercise it, knowing that even a gentle word would influence his people’s actions, let alone a direct order.

It pained him to wield that authority over Lyna – his dear Lyna, ferocious in her devotion to her duty and her people, as gallantly selfless as she was pragmatic – let alone to force her to forsake that duty at his command. But he had to be certain she would not interfere, no matter how poorly their champion might react to learning the role she would play in the events to come.

He could only hope that Lyna, too, would understand when the time came, but that hope made the taste no less bitter.

The Exarch lingered in the silence of his own thoughts for some time – longer than he intended, truth be told. When he eventually conjured Szet’s moving image upon the mirror’s surface once more, he was surprised to find that Alisaie had brought her to the highest point of Mord Souq, where the air first began to prickle faintly with the surfeit of aether.

They must have been talking for some time. Szet gazed out toward the horizon, eyes narrowed against the glare.

“An ocean of primordial Light,” Alisaie was saying, voice grim. “Immersed in such a concentration of aether, the body and soul break down, like… sugar dissolving in water. Under normal conditions, our aether tends towards equilibrium, but here, just surviving is swimming against an endless current. One slip, and you’re washed away.”

“For the poor souls who come to the Inn, it’s already too late. Even surviving an attack by sin eaters isn’t always an escape – the strongest of the bastards can plant the Light itself inside you. Even if you walk away, your fate might be sealed all the same.”

“A seed,” Szet said, breaking her silence.

“A seed of corruption. And they find all too fertile soil here. They always blossom eventually.” Alisaie’s voice was bitter. “Sooner or later every single one of them will turn. The Light will not be denied.”

A few seconds of silence passed, and she let out a drawn-out sigh. “Of course, you know I hate being told what I can’t do.” She folded her arms over her chest, as if to illustrate the point. “There’s nothing anyone can do for those poor souls, other than to keep them comfortable and give them the mercy of a gentle end before the change takes hold. But if we could tip the balance – if we could banish this godsdamned Light –” Alisaie’s eyes had risen toward the sky, which glared relentlessly back at her. “– then they would have a chance.”

When she finally looked down, she found her companion’s silent gaze fixed on her face. A few seconds passed – was Alisaie trying to judge Szet’s response from that inscrutable look? – before she turned her back on the haunting panorama of the ruins below.

“We should head back. It’s getting late.”

Alisaie spent their walk back to Journey’s Head trying to coax out answers about the details of Szet’s brief time in the First, none of which had much significance to the Exarch. He took the opportunity to concentrate a bit more closely on the ancient pages of the tome that had been occupying what remained of his attention, its vexingly faded ink meandering between unintelligible and, charitably, half-intelligible. Although he’d had a century to prepare, so much work and so little time remained. It was almost nostalgic – a half-forgotten memory of a kinder time, when the most dire consequence of time wasted was a failing grade and not the doom of worlds sevenfold.

“Oh, found her, did you?”

The Exarch glanced up from the page to find the pair making their way through the stone jaws of the Inn. The voice that called out to them was bright and warm, painfully out of place in their bleak environs. “I was wondering when you’d be back.”

“Tesleen!” Alisaie’s eyes shifted in surprise between the blonde-haired young woman and her companion. “Mahiwa didn’t tell me you’d already met…!”

“Didn’t she?” Tesleen’s expression was bemused, but unbothered. “It was pure luck, really. I ran into her in Mord Souq and found out she was looking for you, so she walked me back to the Inn – and saved my hide from the coyotes, besides.”

“I daresay the coyotes weren’t very good sport,” Alisaie deadpanned, resting a hand on her hip. “You really have to be more careful, Tesleen.”

“I promise, don’t you worry. That was all the reminder I needed.” The carer’s reassuring smile melted away Alisaie’s stern look in a matter of moments. “At least it meant I got to see what you meant about Mahiwa. She did make quite the dashing heroine.”

“Wh – I said no such thing!”

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Tesleen continued, cheerfully undeterred. “I’ve heard so much – Alisaie talks about you all the time. It’s always ‘if Mahiwa were here…’” Her voice trailed off in a dreamy tone, resting a hand poignantly against her chest.

“I don’t sound like that!” Alisaie swatted Tesleen’s shoulder lightly, cheeks now burning pink. “And ‘what Mahiwa would do’ is usually more of a cautionary tale than a suggestion.”

Szet glanced between the two, eyebrows raised in a way that suggested more bafflement than amusement. Tesleen’s eyes turned back to her, glittering playfully. “Oh, my, you really are just as she described, aren’t you. So serious! The prettiest face you’ll ever see at a funeral.”

“Tesleen!” Wide-eyed and aghast, Alisaie looked as if she was on the brink of walking into the desert to find a hole to crawl into. If Alphinaud had tried to tease her half as much, he’d be blue in the face from being throttled by now.

“Oh, alright, alright. I’m only fooling with you.” She gave a conciliatory pat to Alisaie’s warm cheek, still giggling. “Anyway, teasing aside, won’t you sit down? I was just about to put on a stew – supper’s the least I can do to thank you both for the help.”

“Hmph. Stew sounds lovely,” Alisaie admitted, a touch begrudgingly, before she dropped somewhat dramatically into one of the empty chairs nearby.

Szet trailed after her, but showed a bit more discretion as she sat, perhaps suspicious of its ability to withstand her weight compared to the much smaller girl’s. “Mm,” she added, which presumably constituted agreement, but who could really say.

The Exarch’s attention slowly meandered over the course of the next uneventful hours. There was plenty of other work to occupy him, and it was not particularly useful to watch Szet sit, unsmiling and arms folded as she listened silently to the chatter of the other two women. He let the weave of his eavesdropping spell dwindle to a few threads, enough to listen without draining more than a trickle of his energy.

He was only half-listening when those threads were suddenly yanked taut by the sound of another voice calling out in audible alarm. It only took a moment for him to bring the Inn back into view, in time to see Tesleen rushing over to the frantic carer.

“I only looked away from Halric for a moment, he’s never wandered away before –”

Although her panic was what had seized his attention, that wasn’t what held it now; it was the sight of each patient’s pallid face turned upward, a dozen glassy-eyed stares fixed at the stone ceiling above – or something beyond it. A few moments later, Szet’s gaze was pulled upward, too. Was there some aetheric disturbance he couldn’t sense from such a distance?

Her attention was interrupted as Alisaie grabbed her hand, tugging her to her feet. “We’ll help look. Halric can’t have gotten far. Mahiwa, you’re quicker than me, you take the north and east, and we’ll go south and west.”

Szet didn’t answer, only stopping to grab the greatsword she’d left leaning by her chair before departing.

His spell was tied to her, so it was her search he followed as she swept across the expanse of hills beyond the Inn. It was immediately apparent why Alisaie had assigned her such a broad swathe of terrain; despite the weight of the sword at her back or the loose dust underfoot, Szet could easily outpace most runners even at an easy-looking jog. She swept across the hills and the edge of the valley between the Inn and Mord Souq in startlingly short order, but found nothing.

Something to the south caught her attention – a sound he couldn’t quite make out. It was enough to spur her to a full-on run, with a single-minded purpose that reminded him once again of a predator.

The sound grew clearer as she drew closer, rhythmic and heavy. The realization of what he was hearing left a breath caught in the Exarch’s throat.

It was the sound of massive wings – a terrible, soft drumbeat, measuring out a silent dirge with each stroke.

The horror itself came into his mirror’s view only moments later, a distant white silhouette against a backdrop of red stone. It was disturbingly human – twisted and enormous, taking the form of an armor-clad woman with the wings of a beast. Next to the creature’s searing light, it took him a moment to make out the other shapes.

A woman knelt on the ground, hands clasped around a child’s shoulders. Her blonde hair fluttered wildly with the force of each wingbeat, but she was otherwise deathly still. The shock was written starkly on her face, illuminated by the pale glow of the swordpoint protruding from her chest.

The moment seemed frozen in time, interrupted only by the relentless beat of the creature’s wings as it held itself aloft above her.

He watched as the sin eater’s head turned slowly toward Szet, empty sockets fixed on her with skin-crawling deliberation. The Exarch had seen more of this breed than he could count – perverse templars, possessed of a cunning that made them far more dangerous than the rabid hounds that comprised the bulk of the Light’s hordes. The blank marble of this particular eater’s face was empty of expression – yet somehow the look it leveled at the Warrior of Light sent a chill through him.

After several tense seconds, the creature wrenched its weapon free of the woman at its feet. The gust of a sudden, hard wingbeat filled the air with a shower of sand as it lifted off, climbing until it vanished in the glare of the sky. As the dust settled, the victim the eater left behind was the only evidence of its presence.

Tesleen – her name was Tesleen. In the precious few moments that remained to her, she deserved the dignity of her own name, even if that was the only kindness the Exarch could offer her now.

Tesleen fell forward onto her hands, allowed only a few panting breaths to grasp what was happening before the first shudder struck her. The aetheric change wrought by such an intense exposure, however brief it had been, was as brutal in its progression as it was horribly familiar to him. Within moments, coughing turned to violent retching. The sun itself spilled from her mouth, then her eyes; each drop crystallized as it met the sand, leaving a pile of shimmering jewels between her twitching palms. She could hardly choke out a scream, the agony drowned in another mouthful of her own decomposing aether. Above her, the child stood motionless, his face blank as he stared down at her.

The Exarch had almost lost sight of Szet, transfixed by the horror unfolding upon sands already drenched with sorrow. He couldn’t say whether minutes or moments had passed by the time she skidded to a half-stop, slowing only enough to seize the child with one hand and fling him out of reach, where he tumbled into the sand. The gurgling scream had torn into shrieks of pain and horror as Tesleen’s bones seemed to crack and splinter beneath her now-radiant skin, as the change began to reshape her into something wrong.

Szet’s blade was unflinching as it fell, shearing through Tesleen’s neck in a single blow. The force sent her severed head rolling across the sand, glowing eyes still full of tears; it had scarcely come to rest when the massive blade drove through skull and brain and into the sand beneath. Unsatisfied, Szet wrenched the greatsword free with a sickening sound, then buried it in what remained of the still-spasming body, which quickly grew still.

It was over in seconds. Before the Exarch could even hold his breath, Szet was left standing over the dead girl’s body, still panting from her sprint across the sands. She spent a few moments surveying the ghastly scene – the misshapen body at her feet, the pool of glass teardrops, the crumpled skull several feet away – as if to prove to herself that her work was truly finished. She still didn’t turn her back on the body as she strode towards the child, who lay in silence on the sand where she’d tossed him a yalm or two away, expressionless as he gazed up at the sky.

“No, no no no –” Alisaie’s voice was an open wound as she finally caught up, far too late. If there was any mercy in this, the Exarch thought, it was that she could not have seen the look on her friend’s face at such a distance. “No, this can’t, you can’t, oh gods…” Her words dissolved into a sob, hands clasped over her mouth in horror and grief as she fell to her knees.

Szet’s head turned towards her comrade, but she didn’t falter as she sank to a knee to check the boy for any obvious injuries. Seemingly satisfied, she carefully scooped him up, resting him on her hip as she turned back towards Alisaie. For the first time, the Exarch had a clear view of her face, but her expression was unreadable, brow furled and jaw clenched as she watched wordlessly.

His eyes finally fell away from the mirror, letting the grim image disappear into unfeeling blue crystal. This was too private, too awful a grief for him to intrude upon. If there were some vital secret to Mahiwa Szet’s psyche to be gleaned from the aftermath of such a tragedy, he could not bring himself to learn it.

Still, although the Exarch’s eyes found only the empty room, the scene was burned into his mind like the inverted ghost of a light stared at overlong. The unnatural shape of Tesleen’s body, still achingly human when she had been cut down. The horror of realization in her eyes, swallowed by white flame. The unhesitating arc of Szet’s sword.

It was all a nightmare he had dreamt too many times before. How many Tesleens had he known during his years of slow, careful preparation? How many would he yet know? The number seemed hopelessly vast, as innumerable as the stars hidden within the neverending Light of the sky. Could he even remember their faces if he tried? Their names? The answer left a pit of guilt in his stomach.

Still, amidst all the horror and suffering, his thoughts returned again and again to one moment.

What haunted him was the way the monster had looked at her.