I exited the temple with Ignatia, Emalia, and Sovina to find the sky black and dreary. Though a fitting atmosphere, this was more than mere weather. The land around us seemed… changed. The air felt thick and heavy with Sorcery-like residue from some great Spell.

And perhaps it was.

We were accompanied by the remainder of my sorceii and their Soulborne, having lost some to the battle with Maecia's Sorcerers and Dead hiding in the tunnels. Their losses were not extensive, but it still pained me to see. They were in two halves, one providing a vanguard and the other a defensive rearguard. After my brushes with death, they didn't seem to be taking any chances.

"Eudoxia could not have released such power without consequences," I muttered to the others as we walked down an empty road. Citizens peered out at us through windows and doorways. "Her controlling its release in the first place is improbable as it is remarkable."

Ignatia peered up into the sky and spoke in Vasian, "Not many Souls released, yet much strength. Enough to destroy regions."

"So far, I sense nothing beyond a kind of latent instability."

"What about this?" Sovina asked, nodding to the side. She was half-conscious, supported by Emalia. I followed her gesture.

Down a narrow alley between two ancient brick structures, poorly maintained since their likely ancient origins, half-hidden in the dark shadows, was a Shell. It shambled toward us silently, far enough away that one couldn't hear the scraping feet and low moan in its throat characteristic of all such Dead. Maecia brought no Shells. I didn't raise any. Could other Sorcerers be to blame? I went through all possible explanations with increasing concern, and then I saw its body and knew for certain.

It had a broken skull and terribly twisted leg, as if from a fall, but more, red blood stained its clothes from the wounds. Red blood.

"Sorceii," I called out, pointing. "Capture this one."

They did, or, well, their Soulborne did, hauling it before me, snapping and thrashing with minuscule strength. All Shells were weak next to Soulborne, for they possessed little beyond an average human's strength, and far less coordination or agility.

This one showed few signs of degradation or decay, with new clothes and fresh wounds. Its skin was pale, as if bloodless, and upon closer inspection, we found its back sodden with blood. So this man fell, took serious injuries, and died there or bled out. Such wounds would not kill a Shell. They were far sturdier than we, after all. But what does that mean? That Eudoxia's dispelling of those Artifacts imbued the Dead with Soul fuel, giving them life?

It seemed impossible in this world's state of weak Sorcery. On such a mass scale, without sight or contact with the corpses… I'd never heard of such a thing. Well, not beyond something like my actions in Drazivaska with the portal. But how was this different, truly? She had to find an outlet for the Sorcery, after all.

I put my hand before the Shell's face. It snapped at me as if to bite away my fingers, held at bay by the Soulborne.

"So she couldn't make them loyal," I muttered. "That would be too difficult on such a scale. And with that power, you'd need simplicity for expelling such Sorcery…"

"How far do you suppose this extends?" Emalia asked.

I frowned at the thought. "Beyond the city would be difficult, but possible. Beyond the immediate region of, say, forty miles? No, I doubt we have reason to worry about it—"

"Daecinus," she said in alarm, turning to the walls. "The battle!"

We would have won by now, of course, with our united forces' numbers and overwhelming strength, but that wasn't her concern. I thought it right as she said it, my stomach dropping in sickening realization.

Many of those killed would rise again as Shells, and likely right as our forces had thought themselves victorious, preparing to withdraw!

"Hurry now!" I shouted out to the others. "To the walls!"

We ran as fast as we dared, all of us tired and worn down. Emalia and Sovina lagged behind, so I left them a small guard as they broke from us to rest. We couldn't merely send the Soulborne to scout, for though they could understand and follow directions well, they were not raised like Protis to the capacity of speech.

Protis had wanted others to call kin. Why had I not done as they asked? Why had I let Protis be alone? Protis was not alone. Not truly, I reminded myself.

We rushed up the stairs of the west-facing gatehouse to get a better vantage of the field. However, in place of a battle between Maecia's forces and ours was a battle between the living and the Dead. Fortunately, it seemed the Dead originally slain would not rise again, so it was merely the living killed on either side that came back as Shells. I saw no Reavers among them.

But if I had expected tragedy and chaos, I was proven wrong, for our side, beaten and bloodied as they were, somehow still fought with courage. Yet unbroken. Yet to retreat.

"We need to get down there and support them," I said to Ignatia.

She nodded. "Desirdus will be holding our center, but our Sorcerers will be tired. As spent as our forces are, reinforcements will bring much-needed morale."

We strode down the stairs, careful not to fall after such a testing, tiring day. At the bottom, I caught one of the New Pethan sorceii and asked in our native tongue as we walked, "These northern zealots—the White Order army—will they pose a problem to our side?"

"We found them eager for a fight, Returned One," he replied, considering. "Yes, I think they may. They hate all Sorcery and Dead. The Targul had to keep them out of the city in their camp because of it."

"Very well." The last thing we needed was to deal with a belligerent foreign army after today.

By the time we made it to the field, Emalia and Sovina left at the gates with a few others in too rough of shape to fight, I found the battle slowly drawing to a close. The Targul were proficient horsemen, distracting the Dead and filling them with arrows as the White Order rode small groups down with cavalry charges. The Novakrayuan militia and my New Pethan troops maintained a solid enough center around which the two wings worked. While some of Maecia's people survived, they were in worse positions, having been surrounded by their dead companions, and were quickly being overrun.

I didn't care to risk my forces to help them.

Instead, I found Desirdus at the rear of our small contingent of strates troops and sorceii. He was looking haggard but unharmed, using a spear as a walking stick of sorts, leaning on it heavily.

"Status?" I asked him.

He stood up straight upon seeing me, eyes widening with a smile of relief. "High Magistros, you have returned! Is the day won? I feared the worst with the Dead… Ah, yes, the battle draws to a close. We have contained the Dead. Their destruction is but a matter of time."

"Losses?"

The smile waned. "Perhaps a third of our number. It was a hard battle indeed, High Magistros."

I nodded. This was not unexpected, unfortunately, particularly after I withdrew so many to deal with Maecia, and even then, we lost some in the temple's tunnels. If only we could have seen what this would come to, we might have been more prepared… "Maecia is dead. Her Spell was stopped." I looked away for something else to place my attention on. Ah, the northern zealots; I found their numbers thinned. "We must prepare for the White Order to attack, as soon as we can safely disengage, retreat to the walls."

"And leave the Dead?"

I looked at the battle. Retreat would mean leaving the Novakrayuans here alone. Our supposed allies through the Targul… The practical thing to do would be to retreat to the walls for a more fortified position, but perhaps… just perhaps, we could avoid bloodshed entirely. And so, I changed my mind, ordering, "Hold this position, and once the threat is dealt with, we shall consolidate." With that, I sent a rider for the Targul.

Shortly after, a small contingent approached our position, and I noticed Taraz among them by his ornate silver mask. He rode up next to me, bow in his lap, breathing heavily. "Daecinus Aspartes! A victory in Novakrayu, yes?"

"It is so."

"Then why do you call for my aid?"

I nodded to the north. To the White Order, cleaning up a section of Shells. Perhaps the last remaining holdouts of Dead. "They came here for me. A crusade against Sorcery, I suppose."

"I did not know this. They were opaque about their purposes." He tipped up his mask to wipe his face, red and sweating with the exertion of combat. "But it makes sense, I suppose. Will you retreat to the walls?"

"We will finish the fight here among the others. I just ask for your support should the White Order attack us."

He smiled, reached down, and clapped me on the shoulder, saying, "Of course, we shall. We are allies." The smile widened and eyes crinkled as he stood straight upon his horse, then lowered the mask once more. "Thank you, Daecinus. If not for your support, my city would have been destroyed by that woman's madness. Doing what you have done is no small thing. The Targul shall remember this." And with that, he rode off, rejoining his forces to harry the Dead once more, ever out of reach, occasionally circling around to hack through them with axes and swords, banners designating their organization.

Banners. A good notion, I thought, considering the breadth of my own armies in full. We would need such methods of organization when we attacked Vasia. Ways to keep troops in line when chaos came. As it always would. I had to... Well, I had to make a commander's role far… far more…

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I shook my head and watched our small battle slowly conclude. It was necessary. There was no other way to stop her for good. We were diametrically opposed with no room for compromise. She knew it. I knew it. Why couldn't I push these thoughts away? Why did they torment me so?

The answer is obvious. Do not be a fool, I told myself.

She was my sister. Her loss was impossible to push away, much less force myself to forget.

When it was finally done, Desirdus organized the Novakrayuan militia into columns through an interpreter, guessing my intention. I spoke to them in the relative quiet of a field full of the slain. "Souls have infested the bodies of the dead, of your countrymen, your friends, your family—any corpse with sufficient form to host a Soul." I paused, gazing over them. "You fought well and with honor today for your city, but I am sorry to say your work is not yet done. You must patrol these streets and kill any Dead you find. Novakrayu depends upon you. I would recommend squads of five to cover more ground, and to rally any citizens you find capable of wielding arms." I waved for Ignatia to separate them, competent with Vasian as she was, and turned to face the open fields where the White Order rallied themselves.

Emalia and Sovina joined us on the field at some point and were now beside me, but we did not speak. We didn't have to. They knew the weight I carried, barely managing a front for others. Few could spot it except those two. Few except they had seen me at my lowest.

After the militia was distributed and sent back to the gates, Desirdus and Ignatia returned by my side. The old war leader approached me, brow pinched. "Did Eudoxia survive, High Magistros?"

"She did not," I said, facing forward, not letting the mask slip.

"I was afraid so. She was a good magistros. Vital to your installation more than any other."

"I know you had your reservations about my ascendence, Desirdus."

He was too experienced and hardened, or perhaps just tired and world-weary, to stiffen and show any shame. "That I did."

"You may explain if you wish."

Desirdus took a deep breath and sighed. "You know of my beliefs, my faith, yes?" When I nodded, he continued, "It is a matter of that, for I feared that with your Return, New Petha would be challenged in keeping our faith and government separate. But I also worried that the one bound by the oaths was not fit for New Petha."

"My Hubris, you mean?" I asked understandingly.

"Yes, but more. Forgive my boldness, but it was said you were bound to these oaths, sworn to them in such a way as to make you a dangerous leader. I believe now that the Honorary Episcos—ah, just Maecia, I suppose—wished to prevent your usurpation of power should you return without her. These last days… These last weeks, I questioned my own beliefs with rigor, seeing as I did the reality of things." He put a hand over his mouth, face tensed, exaggerating the worn lines there from a life of leadership, Sorcery, and minor battles. The words that came next were strangled. "Much of the oaths were a construct for control. But I still believe in the power behind the words, the meaning there, the lessons. I worry that your search for Power, now Supremacy, would lead us toward a lifetime of war and turbulence, High Magistros. Simply put, my fear, and that of others, was that you were too dangerous a leader for our young, unproven nation."

"You are not wrong," I replied when he was done speaking, giving Ignatia a long glance to drive home the point, for she was listening close by, looking concerned. "I am angry often, driven by a desire for vengeance against the Vasians for what they did to us. What they did to my home… And all signs seem to suggest I will not stop until the Vasians are crushed. I see that."

"There is some wisdom in aggression, High Magistros, for they are a threat," he replied. "But sometimes, further violence is not the answer, even in war."

"So why did you help, despite all that?" I asked, searching his eyes for some kind of truth. Some kind of meaning or explanation that would reassure me, weakened, lost, and half-broken as I felt then, the reverberations of my many failures still wracking me. "Why did you help Eudoxia and get the army on my side? I know the Magistros of Power had a grip on many of them."

He licked his lips, looking off with a distant expression, eyes a murky brown, a hint of burgundy glinting in the evening sun. "I wish to say it was my belief in the meaning behind your Return, but in truth, it was something else… Seeing you upon that ship with your companions, with the Great Lady, despite the legends of your lone Return, still bound by finite oaths... Constricted by folly… I believe I saw something beyond the legend. A man unbound by legend. One who could change."

I swallowed a lump in my throat, forcing myself to nod in understanding, staring at the field.

A man who could change.

Just possibly a man who could forgive. But perhaps not today.

We waited for the Targul to return with whoops and laughter, thinned though their numbers were, losses embraced with the knowledge of true victory. For the few captured of Maecia's band to be brought along, heads bowed in defeat, shame and fear and sorrow revealed in their postures as they were herded along. No Sorcerers were allowed to live, for as much as I wished to be merciful, we simply could not take the risk with Sorcerers dedicated to something so dangerous, and so they were executed in the fields, with any survivors carefully observed for signs of Artifacts or Sorcery, then shuffled along.

Finally, the White Order approached in an organized column, their flags whipping in the winds overhead, remaining lances held high. They sat tall, even after a long battle, even considering their own casualties, coming to a stop before us with prideful postures. These here were men who believed in their duty with all conviction so fervently that they joined sides with the enemy to fight an even greater threat, then still had the will to come and face me.

I nodded everyone else back and stood on the open ground with my head high. I studied their faces under their helmets. Their leader dismounted and walked three paces forward so that we were but a short distance apart, facing each other. I had not seen this man before, but he was, as one might imagine, a stereotype of their group: in his forties, though still broad-chested, tall, with a warrior's face of scars and sharp, intense eyes that seemed to ensure nothing but duty's supremacy.

"I am Sentinel Kovo Starvast of Kastalec, dutiful servant of both the Grand Sentinel and Sovereign of Prilet," he said in a steady, gravelly Vasian. "And you are Daecinus, the Sorcerer who struck Nova, slew many of my Order in Levanska, and threaten all with your army of Dead from the isle called New Petha?"

"I threaten only those who mean to do my people harm, Sentinel Starvast," I replied evenly.

"A common excuse among the evil of this world."

"Evil? I have made mistakes, yes, but nothing I have done was evil."

"Did you not kill the dutiful of the White Order?"

I gave a single, slow nod. "They attacked me, so I was forced to defend myself."

"And your assault upon Nova?" he asked, undeterred and steady as the ocean's persistence.

"A moment of hubris, perhaps, but it was my attempt to bring justice for their crimes against my people and to prevent the same injustice against innocent others. Yes, it was foolhardy, but Vasia is hardly innocent in its crimes." I swept my hand before me, surveying these men and their unshakeable certainty. "Say what you will, but little evil can be found here. The world is more complicated than such simplistic moral reductionism. You bore witness to my deeds today against my own sister for the good of many. Yes, I plan to campaign against Vasia, but as a nation-state intent on defending itself against imperialistic aggressors, as I bore witness to its leaders swearing my race's destruction. And yet, I am evil? No, your persecution is not due to my actions but my Sorcery. You have decided it is wrong, and so it is, or is there a greater argument hidden there among your distaste?"

The sentinel put up a hand, the other on the hilt of his sword. "I could offer you theological explanations, historical accounts proving time after time the danger Sorcerers pose upon society, or even my own experiences, but these would not sway you, as your arguments would not sway me."

I wanted to crush these opponents. They were my enemies in every sense of the word, diametrically opposed and unable to change. It demanded swift and unflinching violence—the only way to deal with the enemy. And yet… I could become more than a conqueror and avenger. One to end the suffering.

"You are men of Deus, are you not?" I asked.

He nodded, hand still resting on his sword. "It is so."

I took a deep breath. This would be difficult. Keeping a watch on him and his men, though perhaps I didn't need to, considering his righteous and straightforward demeanor, I explained the story of Maecia's founding of New Petha. Of her use of myth to bind them culturally, to keep them isolated and rooted to tradition, and perhaps to keep my memory alive. I told them of how the belief must have spread to Merkenia, adapted and shifted to become a worship of the god of Daes, a combination of the myths around myself and the Vasian god Rotaal, the king of gods, noble oaths, and vanquisher of evil spirits. And how that spread like wildfire across the lands, even reaching Vasia and his home of Sadovoe, to become the worship of Deus.

I turned and gestured to Emalia, who, still holding Sovina, nodded along. "I am… or was… a priestess of the Column," she explained. "What Daecinus says is true. I witnessed it all myself. The New Pethans are faithful to the four oaths, and those of Merkenia to the four saints. Surely you have heard of this?"

The sentinel regarded us warily. "I have. They have a variant faith of our own… But how can you prove your claim to be true? Our faith is old, predating your sister's arrival."

"Not as new as previously believed," Emalia replied. "Studying historical accounts, the actual surfacing mentions of the Ekhenistic faith—of your Deus—only begins within the last one hundred years. After Maecia had reunited with the surviving Pethyans. Other references speak of it long before, but those are always second accounts and testimony, never official historical records, from what I recall." She bit her lip, exchanged a meaningful look with Sovina, and stared up at the dark sky, rays of light breaking through. "It has put to question my own faith, considering these implications and how belief can sway us, or even blind us… I'm sorry, for what it is worth. I wish it weren't so."

Sentinel Starvast cocked his head at us in thought. As if he was realizing something he hadn't previously considered. "You are not what I expected, Daecinus."

"We Sorcerers are not all mad with power and Corruption," I replied. "Just some of us."

"Perhaps." He sighed with his hands on his hips. "Even if you speak true, this is hardly testimony I can accept from an enemy of Deus, whom I am sworn to slay for his transgressions and Sorcerous crimes, you must understand."

"I do." I readied myself for the inevitable. We had tried. I had tried. But sometimes, violence was unavoidable, sometimes… I thought of Demetria. Compromise, she would advise. Seek a better alternative, always, and only when you have exhausted all options, do as you must. "What if you delay your judgment? You saved a city today and killed many Dead. What if… What if you lead some kind of examination of my claims, research as you must, perhaps with Emalia here—she is a scholar of great capacity." I gave her a questioning glance, and she nodded in acceptance, smiling. "Please, you owe it not just to yourselves to explore this before committing to violence, but also to your own people. What if, even given the slightest chance, you are wrong? What if we fight here and no one makes it back to spread the necessary questions, and they never come to the truth? You may not fear death, but you should fear letting them down in your duty as protectors."

"Please do not put to question our capacity as protectors, Daecinus—"

"Not all threats are physical, Sentinel," I replied, cutting him off, voice rising not in anger, but passion. Desperate passion. "Sometimes, the things we need protection from cannot be slain with a blade or burnt with Soulfire. Sometimes, it is not even external, but within ourselves."

He paused forcibly, restraining himself, staring hard at me for a long while. The wind rushed overhead, people shuffled, silent and breathless. And then he said, "I will not return to Sodovoe. I will not submit to threats of Sorcery and might of arms." His jaw clamped tight and eyes burrowed into mine, seeking, searching. Perhaps as I had done myself. "But I will investigate this claim." He looked at Emalia. "I shall call upon your assistance, should you be so generous, for I wish to lead with confidence. I must admit that the conviction in one as devoted as a Priestess of the Column, even of a different faith, deserves credence. I would be a poor sentinel of my people otherwise." He turned back to me and approached, offering a hand. As I took it, ignoring the wariness shouting inside me, he said, "I will trust you not to betray me, Daecinus, as you did not betray those here. And if I should find what you say to be false, I request your submission to trial."

"This is wartime, Sentinel, I must lead my people."

"Then do hope the story you tell is not a fabrication." He let go of my hand. "I understand your home is across the straits. Do what you must, but do not betray this offer. The White Order will not forgive, and many more servants of Deus would follow in my wake." With that, he returned to his men, some looking confused, but most unshaken and holding firm with good discipline. When the sentinel commanded a return to their camp, they followed without hesitation.

"That was amazing!" Emalia all but shouted. "He seems like he could be convinced. A Sentinel of the White Order of all people!"

"Can you do it?" I asked her.

"I can certainly try," she replied, nodding. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity."

I frowned, then slowly understood and nodded along. "It's what you're good at, Emalia. Seeking the truth. It is something all should aspire toward. Including myself."

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