The Exarch was not surprised to learn that Alisaie and Szet had returned to the Crystarium by amaro before the day was out. Whatever had transpired in the hours since the tragedy, he had no doubt Alisaie was keen to see something other than those dead sands.

Her brother’s return was not as timely, although the Exarch could hardly fault his tardiness, after his last glimpse of Alphinaud’s endeavors in Kholusia. Although he had neither the time nor inclination to constantly observe the lad’s progress, he had peeked occasionally, enough to be sure nothing too disastrous had transpired throughout his incursion into Eulmore. (Although the Exarch needed no pretext to care for Alphinaud’s well-being, the knowledge of what Alisaie and Szet would do to him should he fall to harm would have sufficed.)

It was not until late the following day that Alphinaud rejoined them. Perhaps that delay was for the best, considering the trial the other two had undergone in Amh Araeng.

His summons had specified that they should join him in the Ocular at their convenience, but the Exarch was unsurprised that all three joined him almost immediately. That much was a relief; any attempt to occupy himself until they arrived would have been pointless, spent in restless wool-gathering over the answer he had awaited for so long.

That was not to say that he was afraid of Szet’s decision – in fact, he might go so far as cautiously optimistic. He would not have come this far without a penchant for foolish hope, after all.

For once, Alisaie’s face was as sullen as Szet’s. Alphinaud too wore a grim expression, more careworn than his youthful features were accustomed to.

“Welcome back,” the Exarch said, once the Ocular door was closed and the four of them were alone. “I am relieved to see you all returned safely.”

“I’m sure you are,” Alisaie muttered under her breath.

“Alisaie, for goodness’ sake–” her brother began to chide, shooting her a weary look.

“Right, right,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “Sorry.”

In any other situation, the Exarch might have borne such a remark with silent annoyance, but the frustration in her tone only made his heart ache in sympathy now. He paused long enough for the silence to soften the momentary tension, before asking, “Alphinaud, may I trouble you to recount your time in Kholusia?””

Alphinaud nodded. “My visit was… eventful, although I hesitate to call it productive. I should begin with some context. Across Kholusia,” he explained, looking towards Szet, “you’ll find villages abandoned, houses empty, fields overgrown with weeds. Mahiwa – you saw the settlement at the foot of the city gates? They call it ‘Gatetown’, and it’s a symptom of the cancer plaguing the island. With each passing week, more and more people flock to it, making it all the harder for those who remain behind to survive. All for the chance of being chosen as an indentured servant and brought to live in the city proper. Never mind that the conditions of living are far worse in Gatetown than in the towns they abandoned – the hope that tomorrow might be the day they escape is enough to make the squalor and suffering tolerable for another day.”

He sighed. “Yet it’s worse than that. I found a man who had washed ashore after being thrown from the city into the sea below – an artist who displeased his patrons.” Alphinaud’s voice was tense with controlled outrage. He paused for a moment, whether to let the horror of his words sink in or to choose his next ones. “I was able to secure entrance by feigning to be a painter when someone was sent down to Gatetown to locate his replacement. The city is… grotesque in every respect. A parody of gross decadence and callous wealth. Lord Vauthry is a tyrant, ruling over a gilded cage, and his petulant will is the only law. The so-called ‘free citizens’ of Eulmore are content to live in perfect comfort, indifferent or ignorant of the misery that comfort feeds upon, while the bonded live entirely at the whims of their masters, with dire consequences should they fail to please. I interrupted an execution – a lad I had helped gain entrance to the city a few days prior, who had disappointed expectations and been ordered to kill himself by Lord Vauthry.”

“What?” Alisaie was aghast.

Her brother gave her a grim look. “I know. It was then that I decided to make my departure, and brought him with me. He’ll make a full recovery, thank the Twelve, but there must be hundreds of bonded within the city, never mind the hopefuls at the gates.

“There’s more. Vauthry possesses some… unnatural control over sin eaters. I saw at least a dozen in his throne room, as docile as housecats.”

“That’s – that’s insane!”

“I saw it with my own eyes, or I would have scarcely believed it myself. That control lets him claim Eulmore is the last bastion of safety in Norvrandt. He went so far as calling the sin eaters allies. The free citizens either worship him or pretend to, lest they too be cast out of paradise.” His voice was thick with bitter sarcasm. “Needless to say, we should expect no help from Eulmore. I doubt I shall be welcome in Kholusia anytime soon, either.”

The room fell silent, reckoning with the ghastly scene Alphinaud had painted for them. Szet’s face was fixed in a frown, staring at the floor.

Finally, the Exarch sighed. “I am afraid I am not surprised by your conclusion, although I had not realized the situation had grown so dire, or that Vauthry’s influence sprang from such a… peculiar source. This information shall be invaluable – although I must ask you not to take such risks in pursuit of it in the future.”

“I think what the Exarch means is don’t be stupid.” Alisaie shot her brother a glare, folding her arms over her chest.

The Exarch gave a small smile. “Not in so many words, but – yes. Please take care of yourself. With that said, is there aught from Amh Araeng?”

Alisaie opened her mouth, then closed it again. The expression on her face made the Exarch wince beneath his cowl.

“Sin eaters.” Szet’s voice took him by surprise; he caught her eyes shifting from Alisaie back to him. Had she seen that look, too? “A group attacked the Inn. One was different. Aware.” She paused on the word, folding her arms over her chest. So she had sensed it, too, even from the momentary glance she had shared with the creature. “Flew off before I could kill it. Not before it turned someone.”

Her gaze remained as opaque as ever, her voice flat as she summarized the nightmare he had witnessed in only a handful of words. The only emotion he could make out on her face was frustration; if she felt more than that – rage, sorrow, regret, even horror – then it eluded him.

“Ah,” he said softly. After all these years, he still had never found the right words. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“That’s what you wanted her to see, isn’t it?” Alisaie’s voice was bitter, but without accusation. More than anything, she sounded tired. “What it’s really like out there. What these people have to endure, if they’re lucky enough to even survive.”

“One scarcely need step beyond the Crystarium’s gates to witness the horrors brought about by the Flood. Even within these walls, no life has been left unscathed.” Would that he could do more. Soon. “Words alone could never do justice to the tragic state of the First.”

The Exarch paused a moment. “That said, I did hope that speaking with you and Alphinaud might quell some of her quite justifiable doubts and provide some answers that I could not.”

His eyes swept across the three Scions as he attempted to gauge their expressions. Alisaie and Alphinaud’s jaws were tight with resolve, undiminished by their anger or sadness. Szet’s eyes bored into him.

Finally, she broke the silence. “You can’t send them back.” He sensed it was a question.

“No, and we wouldn’t let him even if he could,” Alisaie interrupted before he could open his mouth to reply. “We’ll see this to the end. Don’t you try to convince us otherwise, either.”

Szet’s gaze was unmoved, still fixed on him. This was the moment for which he had waited a lifetime; the Exarch felt he might drown in it, awaiting her answer. Was she still unconvinced? Would she –

A soft, melodic chime unceremoniously broke the silence: the sound of his old linkpearl. Of those he had salvaged from the ruined future of the Source, only two remained, the other belonging to Lyna for use in emergencies. The sound never bode well. It was enough to force him to set aside the suspense, at least for a moment.

“You have a linkpearl?” Alisaie asked, bewildered.

“A what?” the Exarch asked, lifting the linkpearl to his ear. “Yes, Captain?”

“My Lord,” Lyna said, with a breathlessness that set him immediately on edge, even through the crackling connection of the antique device. “I apologize for interrupting, but it is urgent. Holminster Switch is under attack by a swarm of eaters and is requesting reinforcements. Our scouts report sighting a Lightwarden among their number.”

A breath caught in his throat. This was not entirely unexpected; Crystarium scouts and fortunate travelers had reported more sightings of eaters in the vicinity with each day – but to receive such news at this particular moment felt a bit too pointedly like fate.

“Muster the guard outside the Switch,” he replied, after a few moment’s consideration. “Aid any folk fleeing the town, but do not enter. Should the swarm break through to Lakeland, you and the guard are to keep your distance.”

Lyna’s dislike for those orders was audible in her terse tone, even over the poor connection. “My lord – if we do not act swiftly, I fear the town may be overrun.”

“I understand, Captain. I shall join you with all haste.”

“Yes, my lord. Take care on the road.”

As the quiet hiss of the linkpearl faded into silence, he slipped the device back into his pocket, and looked back to the three – well, two – concerned faces staring at him. “I am afraid I must beg your aid sooner than I had thought,” the Exarch offered in grim apology.

“You said a swarm?” Alisaie asked, taking a step toward him without seeming to realize it. “Where – at Holminster?!”

“Yes. The guard are mobilizing to provide whatever assistance they can, but I intend to strike at the heart of the horde directly – with your help.”

“Of course,” Alphinaud said. “We can hardly stand idly by.”

“Where?” Szet asked. The Exarch was relieved to hear no hesitation in her voice. This was her element, he supposed, even if she had yet to concede that this was her fight, too.

“Not far. The Switch is our immediate neighbor to the north. It is too dangerous to go by amaro, but we can be there within a half hour by road.”

“Seven hells,” Alisaie muttered. “Come on, then, what are we waiting for?”

“Indeed. If you have other questions, I can answer them along the way.”

The old dirt road that wound through the Switch was stained with blood. The Exarch had always found this part of Lakeland particularly beautiful; even now, with the smell of death heavy on the air, the violet boughs bore a lovely melancholy.

The woods were still thick with eaters when their small company arrived. Szet led the van. Although hardly his first concern, it was the Exarch’s first opportunity to see her in a fight with his own eyes, rather than from the deific viewpoint of his mirror or his own imaginings of old tales. She was, unsurprisingly, even more frightening to behold up close, where he could hear the weight of her blade as it displaced the air around it and the shudder of impact against whatever was unfortunate enough to stand in her way. Nothing about the way she fought was effortless; the exertion was apparent in every movement, from the strain of her shoulders to the way her heels dug into the bloodied soil. It was only the way that she wielded the greatsword, using her own weight and momentum to double down on her natural strength, that made it seem so natural. He wouldn’t have thought to call her graceful before he saw her split a great bear’s ribcage open.

It took longer than he would have liked to cut their path through the horde, and each scream that tore the air reminded him of how miserably late they were. Still, the silence that closed over them as they grew closer to the heart of the town was worse. When the last eater barring their way fell, the voiceless wind sent a chill through him. Here, where the Lightwarden must be gorging itself on the aether of the fallen, there were no survivors left.

Between the splintered remains of buildings, the Lightwarden’s pale hide shone like a beacon. The Exarch had glimpsed this warden a few times; she – it – was a fairly recent successor to the beast that had held dominion over Lakeland for some decades prior. Her name had been Sigrid, once. He had not known her well; even after she had joined the guard as a young woman, she had been too shy to say more than a few words to him. And yet hers was the blade brave enough to fell the old warden, knowing full well the cost. Several of the families she had spared that day still dwelt in the Crystarium; the children who had witnessed her sacrifice were nearly grown now, but he had no doubt that day was still fresh in their minds.

Today, at last, he hoped whatever was left of her could know peace.

“Wait.”

The Exarch reached out to bid Szet pause, and half-expected her to brush past him as she strode toward the clearing ahead. She did not, instead turning her head to silently meet his gaze.

“I said before that your blessing would shield you from the Light’s influence.”

“Like primals.”

“Indeed. Like primals, a Lightwarden is composed of an extreme concentration of aether. When it dies, the release of its corrupted aether is so powerful that it will overwhelm any living thing close to it. Only you can withstand it, so it must be you who lands the killing blow.” The Exarch glanced toward the twins to ensure they too understood; Lyna needed no reminder of the dangers, as unhappy as she was with this proposition in the first place. “We should be safe at the edge of the clearing ahead. The rest of you, be ready to fall back.”

Szet did not answer, but her eyes were fixed intently on him as she thought, weighing unknown factors as she made her decision. Finally, she turned back towards the road’s end, where the creature remained partially obscured as it shuddered – feeding, the Exarch thought, feeling sick.

Szet studied it with narrowed eyes for a while, tapping her thumb against the grip of her greatsword, before she eventually glanced back toward the Exarch. Her expression was skeptical. “You said you can tank?”

The corner of his mouth turned in a dry smile, despite the circumstances. “Despite appearances, yes.”

She considered that a moment. “Hold its attention. That’s all. Alphinaud – keep him alive until I kill it.”

Were the situation not so grim, the Exarch might have laughed. Instead, with a wave of his staff he conjured a glowing aether shield and reshaped the staff itself into a blade. “On your word.”

Hold its attention, she had commanded, as if that were a simple task.

Weathering the Lightwarden’s fury was no trivial feat in itself, although the exertion was due less to his own physical strength than to the effort of maintaining an arcane shield resilient enough to withstand the impact of blows that shook the earth beneath him. Still trickier was earning and keeping that fury, while Szet went about the work of murdering the beast. Unsurprisingly, stabbing anything was an extremely effective method of getting its attention.

As much of the Exarch’s attention was focused on Szet as on the task of managing the Lightwarden itself – watching for when and where she meant to strike and diverting its attention accordingly. She seized each opening he gave her with terrible efficiency, equal parts methodical and brutal as she drove her sword through weak points in the leathery white hide he had yet to even notice. Even as preoccupied as he was, he couldn’t help but marvel at how ordinary Szet made it seem, as if she had done this a hundred times before. The Exarch had thought the legends of monsters slain at her hand were at least some part fable, but he doubted none of them as he watched her work.

Perhaps what surprised him most was her patience. He had seen too many warriors eagerly leap to their doom, caught by unnoticed jaws or gutted on talons in their blind heroism. Szet dismantled the warden piece by piece – severing tendons, maiming limbs, and letting it bleed as its blows grew more and more sluggish. Alisaie’s spells had left their mark, too, leaving more of the white hide charred and peeling with each verflare.

“Now,” Szet called, her voice sharp but steady. It was the first word she’d spoken since they had entered the fray, but the Exarch understood without elaboration. He gathered as much energy as he could seize without faltering under the strain, until he could hear the aether around him humming – then released the tension all at once. The air itself burned a brilliant blue as his spell struck the Warden, sending it reeling to one side.

Szet was on it in a moment. Before the exhausted beast could react, she leapt atop its back, and with all her strength drove the sword through the creature’s thick neck. When its death throes did not come quickly enough, she slammed the heel of her boot onto the greatsword’s hilt, using her weight to gouge a valley from its throat to sternum, where the blade met solid bone and stopped.

The Lightwarden of Lakeland was dead.

But it was what came next that woke him in the dead of night, caught between grief and terror.

“Stay back,” the Exarch warned, raising a hand toward Alisaie, who mercifully did not argue. He himself stepped back towards the edge of the now-quiet battlefield. The Lightwarden had already begun to decompose before Szet wrenched her sword free and hopped to the ground with a heavy thud, still eyeing the corpse with the wariness he had come to expect from her.

Lyna chafed visibly, growing more restless by the moment as she saw doom fast approaching. Her eyes were fixed on the remains of the lightwarden. As its shape melted away, the light within it did not dissipate. It gathered in a cloud, opaque and painfully bright, like reality itself had been bleached away from the spot.

“My lord,” she urged, “we cannot let the aether touch us, we must withdraw–!”

The Exarch seldom heard that edge of fear in her voice, and it always broke his heart. He knew full well the nightmare unfolding in her imagination, sharpening with every moment. But he could not allow her to interfere – not when they were poised on the knife’s edge of fate, waiting for the breath that would blow them one way or the other.

“That will not be necessary, Captain,” he called out, praying the words were true as they left his lips.

His heart pounded as they waited, filling the silence with the rush of blood in his ears. The white Light congealed in the air, a painfully bright blot on the world that grew larger as the Lightwarden’s body disintegrated. Szet stood frozen, close enough to the Light to make him shudder. Her face was turned away, but he couldn’t have blamed her if she was afraid.

The cloud of primordial light closed in on her, and then slowly sank past her skin.

What if he was wrong? What if it didn’t work – if her scream would be the next sound they heard as the transformation tore through her, reshaping her into the next monstrosity to torment his people? What if his next breath was the last before the fate of the world was sealed? What if –

The sudden clang of her greatsword against the cobblestone beneath them sent a bolt of terror through him – but there was no scream, no whimper or choked gasp. The Exarch expected to see the luminescence straining beneath the speckled gray of her skin, glowing like sunlight through cloth as it devoured her. Instead, she just stood there, a hand pressed against her collarbone as her chest continued to rise and fall from the exertion of battle.

And then – in an instant that could have filled another lifetime – the blank expanse above them broke open. As the Light melted away from its zenith, the captive night sky slowly bloomed, black petals unfurling until they spanned the whole of the sky. It wasn’t until the last drop of Light had bled away that the darkness was full enough to see the faint sparkle of faraway stars against the tapestry of black. He could barely make them out through the tears filling his eyes.

And still Szet stood – whole and unbent. The same woman she was before her hands struck the killing blow. That was as much a miracle as the sky above them.

“Behold,” the Exarch called out, unable to contain the breathless tremble in his voice. “The monster's power is broken, and the world twisted by its touch returns to its rightful form.”

Lyna’s lavender eyes were wide, somewhere between wonder and disbelief. For a moment, she looked like a child again. “Is that…?”

“The night sky,” Alphinaud answered. “As it should be.”

“How many years have I waited for this moment… for the one possessed of Her blessing – the one who could break the Light’s dominion and stand untarnished amidst its ashes.” The Exarch stepped forward as he spoke, his own eyes fixed on a sky he had almost forgotten. “For a century, we have struggled in vain against the Wardens’ everlasting Light – we have witnessed the beasts fall and rise anew, born of the very souls who slew them. Yet the Lightwarden of Lakeland is vanquished, and here you stand.”

Szet was still and silent, gazing motionless at the heavens that had harbored nothing but cold malice only moments ago. Then her eyes fell away from the stars and fixed on him instead.

Before the Exarch could blink away his own tears, she had closed the distance between them, seizing the front of his robes in her fist and hauling him onto his tiptoes. (He could feel the shift in her grip as she realized exactly how much heavier he was than he looked, but disconcertingly, it seemed to hinder her little.) The look in her eyes sent a chill through him.

“My Lord –” Lyna had hardly moved before the Exarch warded her off with a hand – a reminder of the promise he had coaxed from her with this very moment in mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the captain stop, no doubt fighting the urge to take another step, but he didn’t dare to break eye contact with Szet. The seething red of her eyes felt as if it could hold him in place just as effectively as her sword arm.

“You – you –” she growled, struggling to find a name for his crime. “You used me.”

She leaned forward as she spoke, lifting him nearly off his feet and bringing his face close to hers. In the starlight, her skin shone with sweat, but there was no hint of pale aether burning beneath. Only cold anger.

“I did.” The Exarch was surprised to hear that his voice barely faltered, even as his robe strained audibly within her grip. “And for that I beg your forgiveness. Were there any other way, I would not have asked this of you – but I summoned you against your will to champion this cause, and even necessity cannot absolve me of that. And yet I must plead for your aid all the same.”

He clasped a hand tightly around her forearm, but did not try to free himself from her grip. She winced and gritted her teeth at the touch, but did not relent – but neither did she break his wrist, so he went on, meeting her eyes without flinching.

“By eliminating this Lightwarden, you have accomplished more in a single blow than the forces of Norvrandt have done in a century. You have brought darkness to the night sky for the first time in generations. But beyond Lakeland, the other Wardens still bask beneath burning skies, feasting upon what little life remains. Each one must be extinguished, for there to be any hope of bringing salvation to this world or your own.” His voice was still thick with emotion, almost fierce in the urgency of the moment. “You alone can do this, Mahiwa. None, save you, can withstand the Light’s corruption.”

Finally, she spoke. Her words remained an accusation, sharp with anger. “What if it didn’t work?” she snapped. “What if I –” The rest of the thought died unspoken, but her fist tightened on his robe again until he thought it might actually tear.

“Then perhaps this night would have been our last. But make no mistake: if the First falls, so too will the Source. It matters not whether the killing blow is struck tonight or some future tomorrow – if we do not act, we will be dead all the same. Everything you have ever known – everyone you care for – will be lost.”

For just a moment, the Exarch saw something else in her eyes, behind the fury and outrage. Then, without warning, she let go, leaving him to stagger backwards to catch his balance as she turned on her heel and stalked back to the center of the courtyard. Her greatsword lay where it had fallen, not far from where she had buried it in the Lightwarden’s throat not long ago. She claimed it without a word, then stormed off, her long stride carrying her quickly down the road that was littered with what was left of those they had been too late to save.

“Mahiwa!” called Alphinaud, rushing after her with Alisaie close behind. The Exarch heard no answer.

Did she even care? he wondered, as he watched her vanish around the bend. Would the sight of those crumpled shapes haunt her dreams the way they would his? Or were they just another obstacle to be stepped over or kicked aside?

By every account, this day – this night – had exceeded his every hope. Still, there was a disquiet in the pit of his stomach as he stared at that bend in the road.

In the stillness left behind, only he and Lyna remained. Beside him, her face had turned back towards the heavens. He could almost see the stars reflected in the tears in her eyes as she gazed up at the night sky.

“It’s… beautiful,” she whispered.

The road ahead was long; even now, as they stood beneath a miracle, what he hoped to achieve seemed impossible. But he knew all of it – the sacrifices he had made, the lifetimes he had labored to bring them to this moment – would have been worth it for this alone. For Lyna to see the stars for the first time.

A smile spread slowly across the Exarch’s face. A few tears spilled onto his cheeks as he looked up at her, as she looked up at the sky. His voice felt thick when he spoke. “It is, isn’t it?”