Of every child, of every cry,

The Mother we do hear.

Her gift to us forevermore,

Our promise in our mind.

-Korek Song of the Covenant

No light remained in the man. No spark of life, so perfect, so pure. It was gone, the man was dead, and it was her fault.

At some point, a gently thrumming silver-teal light had surrounded Celeste. It illuminated the man’s crushed skull. His head laying in her lap stained her soaked gown a deep crimson. With a trembling hand she ran her fingers through his hair, as a mother would.

He would be with the Mother now. Ethinia herself, taking him into Her loving embrace. A place so… so much more peaceful than here. Not like this world, nothing like this world. This world was broken, so, so broken. It was so much worse than she had ever imagined, and she just… she just… was not strong enough to fix it. She doubted she ever would be.

“How did it come to this?” She whispered to the man, brushing hair away from his face. The din of battle around her was lost to the dull humming in her ears. She ran her blood-soaked fingers down his face, taking him in.

He was not a handsome man, with little in the way of a jaw and a hook nose. A face a mother would love though. Had someone once loved this face? Would someone remember it now that it would fade? It was a face she would never forget; it was the face of her failure. It was the face of the world that was so much worse than she had ever thought. How far had they strayed from the Pantheon’s Light since the Abandonment? Is that why Ethinia had blessed her with her gifts? To mend her broken people?

“But I’m not strong enough.” She whispered to the Mother, a solemn prayer. “I can’t do it Ethinia. I can’t.” Tears streamed down her face as she prayed, dripping off her cheeks and onto the man’s deathly still visage. “I’m only one girl.” Celeste squeezed the body to her chest. The man was growing cold and rigid.

She felt Kriss before she saw him, his boot splashing through the water up to her. Hadn’t Vallerian been here for a moment? Whispering his apologies to the dead? Still, Kriss’s presence was a comfort, one she hadn’t realized she needed.

“I couldn’t save him.” Celeste spoke through heavy sobs, gaze not leaving her failure.

“I know.” Kriss responded, pain in his voice. Celeste looked up at him. A glow seemed to surround him in that moment, a silver web of light wrapping around his tall form. She could feel him, feel his presence near her. It was so comfortable, so warm. Like the fireplace all those years ago that they had shared together. In that place where everything had been so simple. Where nothing had mattered but her and Kriss and…

“I… I tried…” Celeste managed to push out. She looked to Kriss for… she didn’t know what. Pity? She didn’t deserve it. Support? Why should she get support when she had failed?

Kriss held his hand out, calloused fingers proffered and clean. Celeste looked at it, stared at the hand she wished to hold. Then Celeste looked down at the man in her arms.

No. The body in her arms. The man that this was, was now long gone. His soul flickered away to stand before the nine thrones. Forgive me my failure. Celeste thought to the man, wherever he was. I… I will be better. I promise.

Celeste reached out and took Kriss’s hand.

Pulling on her, the man in her lap fell away, splashing unceremoniously to the water, as Kriss wrapped her in his warm embrace. Celeste stood limp in his arms for a moment, his heat an undeserved comfort.

“You did your best Celeste.” He whispered to her. “You always do.”

Celeste sobbed uncontrollably, collapsing into his embrace, and wrapping her arms around him as well. Her chest heaved as he held her, his one hand wrapping beneath her hair and holding her head tight to his broad chest. In their moment intertwined, it was as if the very light that illuminated this place went out, leaving only the two of them, alone together. At that moment, in Kriss’s arms, Celeste knew there was nowhere else she would ever feel safer.

Exhaustion flooded over Celeste, as if she had spent the whole day running around healing people. Every limb suddenly seemed leaden, and she felt herself relying on Kriss to stand.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Celeste apologized with a coarse whisper.

“You never have to apologize to me.” Kriss responded, repositioning her to make his support easier. “I made you a promise, a long time ago. I will always look after you.”

Leaning against his strong chest, Celeste moved so that his arm was around her, holding her up. Able to look around once more, Celeste found the cistern pitch dark, only Gardinal’s glowing shield illuminating the space now.

“Get her out of here!” Gardinal shouted when he glanced over. The man was holding off three men, but blessedly didn’t strike out to kill any of them, even when the opportunities presented themselves. Bless him, a better soul than she ever was.

Celeste looked at him, her guardian, and for a moment wanted to argue. Wanted to stay and help. But no, he was right. She needed to leave. As long as she stayed, her friends were all in danger. It was all too much. This was all too awful. She just wanted to go home, to be back in the temple. To pray with the priests and priestesses. To hear the choirs, and to be lectured by her father. She missed the stern face of the bishop. Missed his voice.

“Please…” Celeste begged. “I… I want to go home.”

Kriss looked down at her, then nodded. They quickly began stumbling off towards the entrance, the way clear for the moment. The sounds of combat echoed through the space behind them, but their path was set.

A deep, terrible darkness clawed across Celeste’s mind, originating from that entrance. She stopped, forcing Kriss to stop as well.

“No.” She whispered, as the dark ephemeral hands began to grasp at her, sinking their sharp nails into her very soul. It felt sick, like decay trying to seep into her own body. Celeste stared into the dark entryway as a figure filled it. A figure whose ruby eyes glistened against the dim light.

“Leaving so soon, Your Radiance?” The Summoner hissed.

The sounds of combat silenced as every soul in the room looked to the newcomer. From next to him a torch was lit, a servant huddled behind the Summoner holding the light aloft. Celeste felt her chest grow tight, her throat bone-dry.

“Come on, there must be another way out of here.” Kriss whispered, trying to pull Celeste away from the entrance. But Celeste resisted with what little strength she had left. This was why she had come, this man. If she could stop him, if she could talk to him. Then perhaps there was still good that could be done in this world. Perhaps she wasn’t a failure.

“What do you want?” Celeste asked, feigning a strength she no longer bore.

“I will admit.” The Summoner went on, ignoring her question and stepping out of the entrance and into the water. “I do not hear the whispers of the Chaos as my Great Master can.” A twisted, sickly grin spread across his face, not once meeting the man’s hollow eyes. “But I am able to interpret its will in my own way.”

An arrow shot through the air, striking the stone wall behind the Summoner. It had missed his head by a thumb’s breadth.

“That was a warning.” Vallerian called out, stepping forward and taking position next to Celeste and Kriss, eyes still darting about for any would-be attackers. Celeste almost smiled at his arrival. “Call your people down and let us go, or my next arrow won’t miss.”

The smile on the Summoner’s face faded. “Lord Vallerian, I had hoped you’d be here.” The Summoner lifted his hand and snapped. From behind him, a small child with a gag was shoved out of the entryway. The Summoner placed his hand atop her head, his fingers digging into the girl’s blonde hair. “We found this one skulking about recently. Quite feisty.”