As they strode through the darkness of a city gone mad, Emalia prayed. She tried not to watch as men fought the Soulborne escorting them from the Column, as they formed shield walls, hid amongst the houses, and charged forth—all without any hope of success. At first, she tried to reason with them, to persuade them, to threaten them to stay back, but it didn't work. They came anyway. And so she did her best to block out the screams, the shouts, the curses, and, worst of all, the damnations sent up to the gods. Why would they forsake someone so pious, so loyal, so devout? Why me? Their calls were all the same.

Emalia did not think such things. She was a servant of Raizak, of knowledge, of Spirits, of humanity's broken chains. She prayed for that which Raizak was known, for that which he had once given so much for, for that which she hoped he might look kindly upon humanity once again. Knowledge, truth, freedom.

"Are there still Soulborne in the Column, Protis?" she asked.

The creature didn't turn to look at her as it remained silent, leading them from the front.

"Will they stop and await orders? Or…." She couldn't quite bear to ask if they would continue to kill everyone inside. She thought of Smychnik. "Surely Daecinus wished for surrender, no? The priests might capitulate if pressed."

Sovina squeezed her arm. Emalia glanced to the side and found her companion frowning.

Emalia continued, "They would if they were knowledgeable of the threat at hand. They are reasonable. They can be persuaded."

"All fought," Protis said. "All will die."

"We cannot know," she insisted, voice raised. "Your attack had just begun, after all. And if there are only a few remaining Soulborne—"

"There were more below, in the tunnels," Stanilo said.

Oskar nodded and spat. "Too many. More than what's here." He looked at the half-dozen Soulborne marching them along. "I'd say the Column's fucked."

Smychnik… He might have hidden away, Emalia thought. Though he was a traitor to Vasia, to the Column, to everything he seemed to speak of… No. He did what he did for the truth that was buried by the Column. He betrayed Vasia for the truth. And how could that be so evil a thing? How could that be betrayal? Still, even as she tried to convince herself that her old mentor was justified, it still seemed wrong. He had always spoken so highly of abstracts, but Emalia didn't know if she'd ever truly agreed. Would I have ever left the Column to pursue Raizak's word if I weren't possessed? If I weren't controlled on some unconscious level? Were my choices up until Drazivaska ever truly my own?

"I'll be damned, the bastard really did it," Oskar muttered, staring forward in disbelief.

Emalia looked up and found that they were outside the palace. But it was not as she had seen before from the windows of the Column: the gates were broken open, corpses strung across the ramparts and inner courtyard, with the main doors guarded by two Soulborne looming in the heavy shadows. Normally, the palace was alive with the clamor of work by the tsar's smiths and other tradespeople, bustling servants, pacing guards, and the rush of boyars of all sorts… but it was silent. Dead.

"How did he do it?" Sovina asked as if to herself. "The border was guarded, walls too high and too well-manned for a simple assault. It doesn't make any sense."

"Vasia's fallen." Oskar gave an empty laugh seeped in defeat. "After everything, the old bitch rolled over and died. Who would have figured."

"Not yet," Stanilo said. "Not while we breathe."

To that, Oskar didn't respond but just frowned off.

"He's right. We can still convince him. He will still listen," she added as Protis stepped forward. And though they were surrounded by Dead monstrosities, though Vasia burned and many died, though all evidence seemed to suggest nothing but defeat, she believed her words. They could convince him. They had to.

…

I knew I was hesitating. I knew I was being weak, looking for any excuse to wait, afraid of what was to come. What was inevitable. I did. And yet… Inside this dark resolution to see justice delivered bloody and complete, there was a glimmer of something hopeful. Some lost naivety, perhaps. The old whisper of a credulous youth still present within my aged and cynical mind. Yet, I listened. It sounded like her voice, rolling in with the tides, the whisper of the ocean breeze. A phantom just outside one's sight, waiting patiently.

"Where are the voivodes?" Feia demanded, pacing about the dais.

"I don't know," the one named Laczlo Vilsky said, still on his knees, covered in the blood of his countryman.

What courage, I thought, observing him. What determination.

"Where have they hidden themselves? Where!"

"I don't know."

"Then guess!"

"I don't believe they are in the city," he said at last, looking to the unresponsive tsar and then back to her. "With the plot about to occur… Half the voivodes were traitors. They knew what would happen here."

Feia cursed and turned from him, throwing up her hands. "They scatter like rats before a flame, the web-weaving cowards!"

It was then that the doors to the great hall opened, and a familiar sight appeared. Protis and some of the Soulborne I'd sent off were escorting a party of my old companions. Emalia and Sovina led the group, with the others falling in behind, though a few were missing, including Nifont and Waker. They must have been caught in the madness of the Column's fight, I thought, frowning. Did my Soulborne kill them?

"Why would you come here?" Feia shouted out, stepping forward from the Dais. "You knew what was foretold. You knew death would stalk these halls!"

Oskar looked away, not out of shame, but to fight something within. As such, it was Stanilo who first responded, "Emalia found something, Feia. I would ask you to listen."

I looked to the priestess, tired, frightened, yet determined. She left the protection of the mercenaries to come stand beside the kneeling voivode, a few paces from Feia; only Sovina stood close by. I was glad they were safe, and yet, horribly conflicted about their presence here, for their current well-being was wagered most dangerously by siding with the Vasians.

Emalia took a deep breath and then met my gaze. "The priests launched the attack on you alone. The princes were not aware of what was happening until it was too late, and you were taken. Both you and your sister were captured, later to be sent to the Floating Cities. The princes sent the surviving citizens east into Merkenia, away from the priests' ire—not all were killed." She paused as the information sunk in, my eyes widening. She continued before I could question her, "Your sister escaped Elansk somehow. She might have attacked Vasia during the Sorcerer Wars, many though they are, but it is unknown. That was decades ago, Daecinus. I don't know much about your kind, but she may yet live—"

I jumped to my feet. "If she escaped them, she's alive!"

"The Column wanted to hide all of this for many reasons, I think, but primarily because they feared the voivodes would reject their influence through the tsar if they found out the truth."

"What truth?" Laczlo Vilsky asked.

Her eyes widened at him as if noticing the nearby corpse for the first time. She replied, "The princes fought against the priests for what happened, for their overreaching, but lost. They were forcibly bound to a tsar because of it."

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He looked from her to the tsar, aghast, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. That was ages ago. The times have changed. Surely that's not enough to make people believe it's all justified?"

"Well, that was why they attacked the Column—they wanted this." She waved two scrolls. "Proof. Legitimacy."

"Give them to me," I said, shaking myself free of my shock.

"Of course." Without any hesitation, Emalia came close and handed the two scrolls to me, then backed up to where she'd stood before.

I pored over them as the others spoke of irrelevant matters of politics and the right to rule. As Emalia endeavored to sway me. As the voivode asked more questions. I read through these old, cracked documents in a state of shock and with some difficulty, the language adjacent to the one I'd stolen. She was right. All she said was true…

The parchment tremored in my hands. What did this mean? Do I leave? Do I pursue my sister, the descendants of my people? Do I abandon all here? Wait. Think, if Maecia escaped, why would she not endeavor to rescue me from my prison? I thought, confusion lancing my panicked contemplation. Even if she were being hunted, she would not hesitate to come to my aid. Not for a year. Not for a hundred years. Why? It had to be something else. Fear? Shame? Perhaps she wanted to right our failures before rescuing me? Still, that was a feeble excuse. Perhaps she hates me for my failings? Perhaps it is resentment, and she wishes me dead? The thought horrified me. It could not be. For all our mistakes—my mistakes—we still stood by each other's side.

Something was wrong here. Something didn't add up. She was more logical than I—is more logical—and was always bound by the higher calling of leading Pethya. It was not possible that she might leave me to my imprisonment for an emotional reason, was it?

If our people lived, and she knew of it, perhaps she feared I would seek vengeance over their prosperity? But how would that hurt them if they were far in the east, separated by distance and ruin from Vasia? Did she fear a war would spill over and damage the world? Perhaps, given my irreparable damage with my summoned army of Dead. But there was more. It had to be more personal than that. Something to do with my need for vengeance. Something to do with my obsessions…

My gaze refocused and settled on Emalia, burrowing into her, through her. "The Column—what does it do?" I had interrupted Feia, who'd been arguing in fiery language that their plea for peace was irrelevant.

"Daecinus, do not bend to this!" Feia begged. "They've committed horrors unspeakable. They must see reckoning!"

"What does the Column do?" I repeated.

Emalia turned from Feia to me. "What do you mean?"

"Its purpose! It is Sorcerous, is it not? The highest room… it has Souls. Take those priests, for instance. Is it a repository for them? What else? What did she fear that I would discover?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I don't."

"It doesn't matter," Feia protested. "We need to see this through!"

I shook my head. There was a missing piece to this puzzle. Something about the Column—I knew it. I felt it. A truth in my bones as certain as my rage. "If Maecia lives, she would have rescued me. But she has not, yet I do not believe her to be dead—not if the priests have hidden her escape, not if my people survived. So there is something more. Some reason she would not come for me. It has to be the Column. It has to relate to my desire for justice. To Nova! It has to!"

"No one knows what the highest floor can do," Emalia said. "It is a secret. And all who know were killed in your attack."

I didn't believe it. Not for a second. Maecia was smart; she figured I would determine the truth that would jeopardize something. That I would—

He knows.

The thought came clear and precise. As if from the center of my being, more observant than my scrambling mind. I stared at the tsar, meek and afraid, half-broken, cowering in frozen silence. I approached him, ignoring the voivode's alarm and the druzhina's attempts to intervene. The tsar looked up at me, shaking and pale.

"You know," I said. "Don't you?"

He licked his lips, looking around for support, but when no one did anything, he bowed his head. "It… It is a secret. Passed down from the High Priest to the tsar. I am sworn to secrecy—"

"Tell me."

"I mustn't…"

"I can pull the knowledge from your mind by force if required, but you will be a mindless husk when it is done," I threatened, voice a deep, grating hiss. I held his chin and forced him to meet my eyes. "Tell me and avoid this needless loss."

"I…" He hesitated, closing his eyes, then opening them again. "It can only be used by a powerful Sorcerer. We haven't seen one in centuries nearly strong enough, but one day, it is prophesied that a return will be had—"

"What can it do?!"

He yelped, then continued hurriedly, "The foretold one can reach forth across the veil and return a Soul to this plane. A Soul materialized in physical form. Returned."

All sound in the room dimmed to silence. My breathing shallowed, only a faint thing, yet my chest rose and fell like the waves of a storming sea. It was impossible. A working connection to the High realm of Souls? A working Grand Observatory? That was how Emalia was Corrupted, for she was a mundane human entering a world meant for Sorcerers and Souls alone. It made sense now.

Is this what Maecia feared? That I would abandon all to pursue this? Why?

It doesn't matter now. The truth is unveiled.

"It is very dangerous to even the strongest of—" he continued, but I shut him out, mind racing.

All my efforts in the decades since she was taken from me… I could have her back. I could bring Demetria back.

"You're coming with me," I said, grabbing the tsar by the arm. "Emalia, Sovina—you as well." Before they could respond, I began to march away, mentally calling forth four Soulborne to be my escort. I couldn't wait another second.

"Daecinus," Feia called out.

I hesitated, then turned, meeting her gaze. "I have the greatest chance of success of bringing back someone I know as the summoner of that Soul. That's how the Observatory would work. But if this Column does as the tsar claims… if it works, we will endeavor by any means to bring your family back. This, I swear to you."

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, face twisted in an onslaught of emotions. "Do not fail. You must return. We must succeed. Daecinus, do not fail."

"I shall not."

"Then go, and bring her back. I will watch over the others."

I spared her one last look, knowing in some dark depth of my Soul that this may very well be the last moment we spoke to each other again. And yet, it would be impossible to stop now, and so I left, Emalia, Sovina, and the tsar behind me, surrounded by Soulborne. As I passed Protis, I whispered a command to it to keep Feia safe, whatever should happen. My creation, strong and commanding, stared back at me, something of understanding flickering in its eyes.

…

Oskar's hand twitched as the pale bastard strode past him. It'd be so fucking easy, he thought, the pommel of his sword in hand. All I'd have to do is draw and—

Stanilo put a hand on his shoulder, and Oskar dropped his hand to his side. He glanced back. "What?"

The big man just shook his head.

"Don't Nifont deserve better than this? He was killed by one of that bastard's creatures," Oskar hissed.

Stanilo watched the party leave the hall. "He didn't die for our want for vengeance. Not even his own. He died despite his own."

"And you think he was happy about it? Think he died with a smile?" Oskar rounded on Daecinus, already outside but not quite out of earshot. "We lost Pamil, Sadoch, Waker, Nifont, and more for you! And by all the Dead of Neapoli, you can't even spare a bloody apology! How many more will die, eh? How many more must suffer for your antiquated fucking cause?"

The Sorcerer stopped and looked back. "I'm sorry, Oskar. To all of you. I wish it could have happened another way." With that, he left without another word.

"Yeah? That all it takes to make it right?" he shouted back, face flushed hot and angry. "Go fuck yourself, Daecinus! Think you're the victim here? You're worse than the damn voivodes!"

"Keep your forked tongue in your mouth," Feia snarled from across the room. "Speak to or of him in such a manner again, and I will pickle your rotten organs."

Oskar about said something equally sharp back but decided against it, scoffing and leaning against one of the hall's pillars. He cast a look to Stanilo. "So what now, you figure?"

"We wait. And we pray."

"Yeah. Sounds about bloody right. Some damn job this is."

He looked on over toward Feia after a little while and watched her pace away, sitting upon the tsar's throne. She sprawled out like a cat claiming its spot for the afternoon, one leg tossed over the arm, fingers toying with what Oskar figured were Sorcerous Artifacts on her arms. But before her—now that he had a chance to really look with people having dispersed—was a messy scene indeed. Iarek Kostuveski lay dead on the floor, surrounded by a bloody pool. Kneeling over him, having not moved since they'd all arrived, was Laczlo Vilsky. He'd been asking questions and such earlier, but Oskar never got a good look at the man. He was covered in blood, pale as one of the Dead, and beaten to shit. The druzhina named Isak was standing close by, guarding him from the Soulborne as if he'd survive more than a few seconds in a fight with multiple of those things.

With nothing better to do, he pushed off the column and walked up to the voivode. Hands on his hips, he asked, "What happened to you?"

"Oh." The man looked up, blinked, then moved away from the body, wiping futilely at his blood-covered hands. "Well, it's been a long day."

"You look worse than me. And we had to fight our way in and out of the Column."

"I fought Ygon."

Oskar whistled, shaking his head. "Heard of him. Big one, isn't he? How'd you manage that?"

"I had a sword. He didn't."

"Been there." He nodded to the dead voivode. "And here?"

"Ah, well, he wished to try and fight Daecinus. I had to stop him. Or else…"

"I understand." Oskar knelt down, looking Laczlo in the eye. "So you killed a voivode to save Vasia, eh? Curious situation, that."

Laczlo stared back at him, at first uncertain, then unmoved. Stoic as any warrior of a good tale. "It's not the same."

"Well, I'll agree to disagree."

Isak was the one to respond first. "The voivode is no traitor, unlike you."

Oskar glared at the druzhina, who now loomed over the two of them, young and strong and perhaps even meaner than Oskar was all those years ago. So he shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. It'll be up to whatever unlucky bastards inherits this shithole empire to decide that, in due time—the stories of history and all that. Not up to us."

"Not you, anyway."

"Sure. Alright." Oskar stood up, cracked his back, then patted where the pardon lay, hidden and safe. "Still got your letter, Vilsky. Don't think I forgot about it."

Laczlo stood slowly, nodding. "And don't make me regret it."

"Well, doubt I could, Voivode. Doubt I could."

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