I was informed that the assassin was found dead in her cell. We never got to question her. As I walk in, the prison block goes silent. The prisoners retreat to their bunks. Lurgan stands next to the corpse.

"So? Who is she?" I ask.

He grunts. "Don't go poppin' my head, but, I wasn't able to find much out. She wasn't talkin' to me."

"You couldn't even get her to tell you how she died?"

"Nope. She was being a real cunt about it. There is one thing, though..."

"What is it?"

"She ain't a clan member. I'm certain of it." He picks up her arm and opens her palm. "That dirt on her hands. Under her nails. That's from the surface. I'd bet my boots on it."

I lean down and narrow my eyes. It has a ruddy tint to it instead of the greys and blacks of the Underdark's soil. "Curious. Where could she have come from? Why would a surface dweller..." I run my hand across my chin. I'm not short on enemies on the surface.

"Thank you, Lurgan. If I have any more questions, I'll call for you."

"Yeah, sure," he says with a grunt, then walks out.

I begin removing her clothes to prepare for the autopsy. She's covered in tattoos. They seem familiar, though I'm not sure where I've seen them before. The woman is filthy. The dirt isn't just under her nails. It's everywhere. I collect a sample of the dirt and place it in a glass vial.

The door to the prison block opens quietly and I glance up.

Bex.

I straighten. "You've come to witness my debauchery."

"Is that what you're calling it?" she says with a half smile. She studies the woman's body. "Gods... she looks like a shadow druid."

My hair stands on end. "What?"

"Those tattoos. I'll never forget them."

My brows pinch and I rest my hands on the gurney. "What else do you see?"

She cranes her neck. "What's that smell?"

I sniff the air and shake my head. "I smell nothing..."

"Right. Must just be me, then. I'll search her cell and see if there's anything else I can find."

"Are you sure? I'm about to begin the autopsy."

She gives me a look before turning toward the assassin's cell.

I take the scalpel and proceed to cut a Y incision. "Do you think it was wrong of me to have Mizora take Doni to Avernus in the middle of the assassination attempt?"

"What choice did we have? Mizora was going to take him regardless. I could have tried to get him to safety in the forge itself but..." She paces the cell floor, staring at the ground, before stooping down. "...Avernus is familiar territory at least. I would like to see where exactly Mizora is taking him to settle my own worries. I can't imagine it's any worse than Elturel was at the time."

"I agree. Though I doubt she'll be willing to take us freely." I carefully break the cadaver's sternum. Wet bones are always far harder to manage than dry.

I straighten and tap my finger along the handle of the scalpel. My claw makes a soft clicking noise. "What do you think of Master Blades?"

She peeks out between the bars of the cell. "He has to be a veteran of the Blood War. I suspect training Doni is a step down from whatever he used to do." Her face grows soft. "He seems like a good man... perhaps that's his problem."

I pull the front end of her ribs free to get a clearer look at her heart and lungs. "A man who's being punished for being too principled and kind." I probe her heart and lungs before removing them. "There doesn't seem to be edema or bruising," I mutter. "What do you think the people of Forgetown are going to say about The Shepherd demanding a devil drag his son to the Hells?"

"Ah! Found something!" She holds up a small glass vial and brings it to me. "I think you'll find most people are remarkably forgiving when they feel well taken care of."

I give her a soft smile, setting the lungs aside.

She opens the vial and jerks her head back. "Wuh-! Okay... I think I know where the assassin's bizarre smell comes from." She holds the bottle up to me.

I sniff it. I smell nothing. "Curious. Do you know what the smell could be?"

"No. I just..." She sniffs it again. "I feel like I've smelled this somewhere along the Merchant's Road." She avoids looking at the body while she thinks. "A traveling apothecary. Mr. Burnham. He would often show me potions, poisons, and tinctures. And this one..." She turns the bottle in her hand, then looks at me. "You really can't smell it?"

She holds it up once more and I take another sniff. "No."

She pulls it back, and her expression shifts into something I can't read. "I think it might be Mercy's Draught."

I lean on the gurney, tapping my finger.

I press the scalpel into the assassin's stomach and open it. "Does it smell like she may have ingested it?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Not exactly how I wanted to spend my morning." She leans forward and gives it a quick sniff. "Ugh! Gods!" She covers her nose. Then pauses. "Yes... yes, it's there."

"Poisoned in her prison cell. I thought they searched her before detaining her... I suppose a small bottle could have been easily missed."

Her head is low.

"Bex, are you alright?"

"Yes, it's just... if this is Mercy's Draught..."

There is a silence that settles between us.

"...it can only be detected by those who are good of heart." She stares at the bottle in her hand. "That's the mercy of it."

My gaze shifts from the bottle to her a few times. "I see."

Her brow pinches. "...I suppose there was a part of me that had hoped..."

I wipe the scalpel clean and begin placing the cadaver's organs back into her body before pushing the gurney to the corner of the prison block. I take my kerchief and wipe the gore from my hands, then give Bex a soft bow.

"Forgive me."

I walk past her.

I spend the morning gathering the relevant parties to review the temple. Bex meets us at my office.

I find it difficult to look at her. The way her face fell. I can't get the image from my mind.

A map is laid across my desk. "What's the status on our armor, Dammon?"

"Arthur is making a few more adjustments on your gauntlets. I've added extra plates to fortify Bex's armor. It's been interesting working with drow armor."

He laughs and shakes his head, turning to Bex. "We were traveling the Merchant's Road a few months ago with hardly anything to our names and little food to speak of. Now I'm fortifying armor for you while you charge into battle. I would have never assumed this is where we would end up."

She gives him a soft smile. "We're safe, that's what matters to me. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure we stay that way."

Dammon embraces her and they hold each other quietly.

My lip twitches and my focus shifts across Zevlor, Lae'zel, and Maylee. "The maintenance bridges. We'll need to allocate archers and mages there." I drag my claw along the main halls of the temple. "Zevlor, as you can see, there isn't room for a full cavalry contingent, but you've said the Hellriders are still excellent foot soldiers."

"We are. We're fully equipped and ready."

"Good."

Lae'zel has her hands folded in front of her, standing at attention. "The Spellguard I've established will be most effective covering the north wing at range. They can channel the hostiles into the corridors more effectively than simple archers."

"She's right," Bex says, pointing at the entrance of the two corridors. "We still don't know how they might attack. Ladders. A siege tower, perhaps. Either way, we need to channel them through the field of engagement. We don't have a lot of room to do it."

I tap my claw on the table. "A decoy contingent." I keep my head low and glance at Bex. "We position a handful of soldiers at the north wing. Brithvar won't know our numbers. The contingent can pretend to retreat, luring Brithvar's soldiers through the corridors."

She doesn't look at me. "That leaves our soldiers vulnerable. What if they're overwhelmed before they reach the corridors?"

I press my lips thin. "We've considered nearly every reasonable approach. They still won't have the means to flood the north wing. They'll be pressing us back. All the soldiers need to do is withdraw. I will be among them to give the command."

She lifts her chin.

Zevlor and I share a glance. I speak slowly. "Perhaps..."

He smiles. "We've performed fighting withdrawals before. Give us enough time and we should be able to make a convincing retreat. If Brithvar doesn't take the bait, we're not above resorting to insults," he says with a chuckle.

It takes everything in me not to joke about Zevlor's last grand retreat from Zariel's command.

Poor taste.

...Still funny.

I fight a smile.

Then Maylee speaks. "I'll position the wardens on the far end of the corridor. The duergar will be sitting ducks."

I give Maylee a nod before looking to Bex.

She gives me a soft nod in return.

We take our time to prepare. Bex allocates food, weaponry, and armor from the supplies provided by the Zhentarim and the Grove. New smiths arrive to assist Dammon. Arthur teaches them new techniques, and before long, we have an armory. Any quality issues are quickly corrected.

Lurgan's intelligence has been invaluable. More duergar are gathering, though some of his allies are pulling out of Brithvar's campaign, citing a preference for diplomacy over an immediate frontal assault.

How very wise of them. Bex will be pleased to know.

As preparations continue, the letters from Rooster are sweet nothings about Bishop's absence. Whispers amongst the True Souls suggest Ketheric is looking to take complete control of the Army of the Absolute.

He's also very happy to have found a lot of the missing people. Less happy to find them brainwashed.

The prism shows me visions of Astarion standing in a small council meeting. Ketheric is growing suspicious of what is happening in the Underdark, despite Nere's correspondence.

The absence of direct word from Z'rell has contributed greatly to those concerns, and Nere's stagnation in his search for the Boss has made things worse.

Astarion's letters echo what I've seen.

I am far less concerned about the matter.

I hold the Githyanki disc in my hand as Lae'zel stands next to me in full armor, holding the egg. The camp bustles around us. Barcus sits nearby, assembling bombs.

A light flickers and a full-body image of W'wargaz appears floating just above the disk.

"Very well," he begins. "If it is necessary that we maintain this little forge of yours as an asset, I suppose this relieves us of some of your needy requests. I will be sending ten Githyanki warriors to aid you. They should be arriving shortly."

The image flickers out.

"Ten?" I look down at Lae'zel. "What the fuck is this?"

She scoffs. "You, once again, underestimate the might of the Githyanki warrior! Each warrior represents the strength of ten men. Kith'rak W'wargaz has just supplied you with the equivalent of one hundred soldiers. Be grateful."

She flounces off, still clinging to the egg.

I worry for that child. I glance at Barcus.

He gives me a soft shrug and keeps working.

Something darts across my vision, and Pip catches herself on my lapel. "Ser Varrick! Message from Lurgan!"

"What is it?"

"They're moving!"

"How much time do we have?"

"Not much! Now's the time to stand!"

"Karlach!" I storm toward the campfire.

"Yeah, Spooks!" She hesitates. "Oh, gods. It's happening, isn't it?"

"Time to go. Get everyone ready. You need to evacuate."

She gives me a stiff salute. "I'll keep the evacuation route secure and make sure the folks across the lake get out safely!" She holds out her arms. "Hugs?"

Gods damn it. I step into her and she squeezes me tight. My back pops in a few places.

...I feel better.

Shadowheart approaches, fully clad in armor.

"Thank you for staying," I say.

"You said you needed healers, and I have no interest in this temple falling to a bunch of belligerent duergar."

Bex slings a large bow across her back, then holsters a sword at her hip. The Deathstalker mantle is already fastened to her shoulders.

My stomach turns. She'll be standing with me as we face Brithvar prior to the siege. Despite my reservations.

She glances at me and I straighten, tail flicking.

"I can see everything you want to say in your eyes. Thank you for not saying it."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

I have dreamt of it.

"Father!" Doni runs up to me. "I can fight! I have powers now!"

I crouch down. "I'm sorry Doni, not this time."

He becomes crestfallen. "But..."

"No. This isn't a discussion. Perhaps you can attend the next siege."

"But I don't know when we'll have another one."

I take his shoulder. "I need you to be around for it when it comes. But I want you to train more with Master Blades first. He's a good man. ...somehow..." I say beneath my breath.

Tears begin to well in his eyes. "But... what if you don't make it? What if I could have saved you?"

"I will survive. I'm not lucky enough to get snuffed out so soon. Now go with Karlach."

He lifts his shoulders and hangs his head. Then he steps into me and gives me a tight hug.

I feel him hiccup a few times before he steps back, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

I hold up my hand. "Wait." I glance toward Bex. "The sending stone."

She smiles softly and hands it to Doni.

He palms it and rubs his eye again.

"I'll send you a message as soon as it's over. Okay?"

He nods quietly.

"Come on, Doni." Karlach picks him up and he lays his head on her shoulder.

Bex watches everyone as they grab their packs, already filled with essentials. They leave the rest of the camp behind and make their way to the ferry.

Danis walks up to her, and hesitates. "Uhm... stay safe." He glances at me before patting her arm.

My brow creases as I look between them.

Danis walks away.

Bex sighs deeply before heading out to alert Maylee and Zevlor.

I walk next to her. Shadowheart and Lae'zel follow.

It is quiet in the temple. I stand on the broken platform overlooking the north wing. I am clad in dark armor. My greatsword is resting point-down, my hands folded on the pommel. I steady myself, shoulders back.

Bex stands beside me. Chin high. Hand gripping her hilt.

My eyes briefly flick to her. My faith in her abilities hasn't faltered, but the thought of losing her has become almost unbearable.

She is precious to me.

Zevlor stands to my right, his hellriders behind him. The Githyanki line the front of the broken platform on either side of us.

Brithvar and his contingent of soldiers emerge from the halls, filling the temple below. Armed and ready.

He stops, looking up at me. "Hah. Must have heard us coming."

"You're very loud."

"Seems there's a snitch among us. I'll have to deal with them after we get our forge back."

"It wasn't difficult to determine what you were up to. You're not exactly subtle."

"Look. I didn't want all this trouble."

"And yet you bring militants to my doorstep."

"Yeah, well, you weren't makin' things easy for us."

My lip twitches and I suppress a small smile. "Your demands have been found to be unreasonable."

"I figured as much." His eyes drift across the landing.

"Quite the turnout," he grunts.

"I have a lot of friends."

His eyes snap to mine. "Where's the cult?"

A roll of black fabric lies at the edge of the platform in front of me. I nudge it with my foot, and a wide banner unfurls, revealing my heraldry.

"Huh. A rogue True Soul."

"I am Ser Varrick, the Shepherd. Forgetown is mine to defend. Return to your homes." My voice grows quiet. "This needn't get messy."

Brithvar's expression twists into a scowl. "You think we're cowards?" He shifts forward. "You stole what was rightfully ours! We ain't gunna let that stand."

I give him a soft nod. "As you say."

Brithvar holds up a fist. The soldiers grow still. Some clutch their weapons. Others brace their footing.

I watch for any sudden movement.

He throws his hand and several bottles are launched into the formation, shattering among the troops. They're coated in flight potion and the attacking forces surge upward.

I raise my sword and the archers among the Hellriders and Githyanki begin firing.

Several duergar go invisible and I shift back, putting my hand in front of Bex.

She pulls her longbow and carefully aims, cracking a duergar in the chest. The woman drops out of the air and Bex vanishes.

I feel her move.

My jaw grows tight but I remain focused on the onslaught.

Zevlor bellows. "Get ready! This is going to be a nasty one."

Several Hellriders fasten their helmets and pull their swords.

I press back from the edge of the landing as it becomes flooded with bodies. My eyes remain on Brithvar who rises above me, then vanishes.

Fuck.

I secure my helmet and cast my fear aura. Several duergar around me fall still. One by one, my sword cleaves through them.

Every time I feel something touch me, I reach for it. I'm able to grab and run through a few more duergar. I watch for spells, auras, unexplained movement. Anything that can tip me off to their location.

A heavy blow strikes across my back. I crack my fist across the face of a soldier that materializes behind me.

"Move!" I cry out.

The Gith remain to hold the landing while the Hellriders charge back.

I grab a man by the throat and throw him off the landing before following the last of the Hellriders.

Several duergar have already passed through the corridor undetected. As they materialize, they begin to overwhelm my ground troops.

I look up at the maintenance platforms and wave my arm. "Focus inward!"

Duergar follow at my heels and I turn, blocking the corridor. I blow them back with a wave of thunder. As they fly back, I cast my hand, and the duergar are drenched in water. I slam my foot into the puddle. Lightning surges through me. The duergar go stiff, and several more become visible as they all drop.

"Ox!" I race toward the forge.

There is a chuffing, and Ox charges into the fray, a Rothe. He bulls through several enemies.

My blade runs across the throat of a man in front of me and I bring my boot down on another advancing duergar. He crumples beneath my weight, and I drive my sword through the back of his neck.

There is a flash of red light. My ward is battered by several magic missiles. A mage is positioned on one of the elevated platforms. It hangs over a lava flow. I feel my flight charge fading, but I kick off. I reach the platform just far enough to snatch his ankle. He wails as I drag him off and drop him into the lava. Then my flight vanishes and manage to catch the edge of the platform, dangling. My feet kick and my tail lashes wildly as I try to pull myself up, but my armor is weighing me down.

I grit my teeth and pull until my arms shake.

My hands slip.

My stomach drops.

I feel the heat draw near.

Then I stop. A psionic power has enveloped me, and I am lifted back onto the solid ground.

I lie on my back, clinging to the floor. A very disappointed Githyanki Kith'rak is leaning over me. I narrow my eyes as I clutch my chest, trembling slightly.

"You are foolish, Istik! I should have allowed you to fall! If it weren't for the prism, I might have!"

"Your priorities are admirable," I say breathlessly. I carefully climb to my feet, feeling lightheaded.

"My name is Kith'rak Voss. W'wargaz explained everything to me. I meant to introduce myself earlier, but it appears war was imminent. Unfortunate circumstances for an introduction." He presses his finger into my chest. "If I see you acting recklessly again, I'll shove you into the lava myself."

He flounces off.

I give a sharp whistle.

Ox lifts his ears, mid stomp, and charges toward me, quickly shifting into a black shire. Then a bottle of alchemist's fire breaks against him. He screams as he catches fire.

"Shit!" I run to him, casting my hand. Water drenches him, extinguishing the flames. I cling to his nose. "Are you okay, my friend?"

"Never mind that." He whinnies. "Move!"

My brow grows tight, but I leap onto his back. We charge down the bridge. Chains clatter and snap under our weight. A few of the iron platforms break and fall behind us, cutting off the forge for any more advancing forces.

We rush through the tunnel. Ox leaps over the wooden bridge, landing hard on the forge floor. I look around and find Brithvar face to face with Dammon.

Dammon is battered, but he's holding a hammer and a shield.

"It doesn't have to be like this! We've given so much to make this place work!"

Brithvar swings a war pick at him. Dammon meets his blow with his shield and shoves him back.

Ava has a metal contraption that detonates projectiles. She blows one duergar through the chest and they drop instantly. Arthur hovers around her, four arms outstretched. He grabs an assaulting duergar by the arm. "Sorry." He picks her up and pinches his fingers through her chest. "Eh..." He drops her and wipes his hand on his apron, lowering his head with a few clicks.

I dismount and draw my sword. "Brithvar!" I shout.

Ox charges into the skirmish, kicking and snorting.

Brithvar glances back. "You made it. Good." He looks up and gives a nod. Kith steps forward, holding a large, iron flask. Orange smoke rises between his fingers.

I step back. "Ava! Arthur! Dammon!"

Arthur picks up Ava and Dammon and begins to run.

"Arthur!" Ava squirms in his arms. "Put me down!"

"Please, sweetheart. Understand where I'm coming from!" He hoists her under his arm to get a better grip. Steam jets from his neck as he continues to run.

Kith pitches the flask. I step back, following it as it flies through the air. As it nears me, I swing my blade. There is a clash of iron against adamantine. The flask is knocked into the lava.

My heart is racing. Whatever the hells that was... it's done. I turn to Brithvar. "Any more spectacles?"

His jaw draws tight and he pounds his fist into his chest. He grows into a hulking man and charges me.

I brace myself, catching his pick against my blade. I press against him, but he stands firm. I butt my horns into his face and he staggers back, nose bloodied.

I strike him with my sword, but it slides across his mail and leather armor.

He punches me in the face. I lose my vision for half a moment, shifting back. I shake my head and steady myself in time to see his pick swinging down on me. I dodge it, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into me. My sword digs in the pit of his arm. It runs up and out of his collar.

He goes wide-eyed and grips my helmet, throwing it across the forge. He reaches for my face and manages to grab my horn, ramming my head into his knee.

I grunt. My sword pulls free from him.

He downs a healing potion and advances once again.

I look around, then see the hammer. I press myself forward, pushing him with every ounce of strength I have. He stumbles back before I sweep his feet out from under him and pin his head against the edge of the platform. My fist slams into the switch and the hammer comes down.

Cranial tissue spatters me. Brithvar's body shrinks before toppling over.

I catch my breath and drag my hair back between my horns.

Gods.

What a fucking bastard.

Something shifts in the air. Several people grow quiet and for a moment, it seems like the fighting has stopped. I turn toward the uncanny feeling.

A dark mass rises from the lava. A spectator. A guttural roar carries forth as it occupies the forge floor.

I avert my eyes as people begin to scatter. Several wardens get in formation. The power from the hilt charges my blade. Blue arcs of lightning curve around the adamantine.

I feel it. That familiar power.

The spectator screams again as several wardens engage it. A blast emits from its eyes. Some of the wardens begin to scream and laugh, then run in circles clutching their heads. The Spectator is battered with several ranged attacks. A mage pummels it with a fireball and it tips and roars once more. It blasts the assaulting archers and mages.

They disintegrate.

I close in on the aberration. Sword charged and steady in my hand. Each step deliberate. I swing with all my strength, when a ray hits me.

I am still. No matter how hard I try, my body doesn't come free from the paralysis.

Someone tugs at my sword before it's wrenched from my grasp.

I hear Arthur screaming. "Ava! No!"

I finally see her on the upper platform, goggles secured, full sprint, before launching herself into the open air. She brings the sword down on the Spectator and there is a blink of blue light.

Everything falls quiet.

The uncanny feeling vanishes.

My body comes free.

"Ava? Ava!" His voice rings hollow in his chest. He pulls off her apron and rips off her shirt, tearing it into strips before tying the strips around her upper arm. He twists until the bleeding slows. Her arm lies mangled next to the body of the spectator. My sword resting in the arm's open palm.

Ava moans. Her feet shift and her knees bend, as if she were trying to stand.

"Stop. Stopstopstopstop." Arthur rattles, then hiccups. "Don't move."

"We got to keep... forge... safe..." Her eyes roll. Her eyelids heavy.

I throw off my gauntlets and kneel next to her. "Get her to the healers. Quickly. Your tourniquet will hold. Just, move!"

"Aaah!" He creaks, scooping her up and running down the western corridor.

I slowly stand, picking up her arm and taking my sword in hand. I look at it. The snaps of lightning are gone. The power has retreated. There is a soft, cold smoke that rises from the blade, almost like it's content. I sheath it and walk to the healers, carrying her limb.

By the time I arrive at the infirmary, Ava is asleep but alive. She's lying across a bedroll with her head resting in Arthur's lap. He is gently stroking her hair. An odd hiccup comes from him as he stares at her.

The stump of Ava's arm is sufficiently bandaged.

"Thank the gods, you have it." A cleric rushes up to me and I carefully hand over the limb. They examine the damage and their face falls. "Oh..." They sink slightly and walk over to the other healers. Shadowheart and a druid healer are kneeling next to Ava. The druid healer takes the arm and lays it next to her before shaking her head.

Shadowheart looks up. "Varrick..."

I begin to feel heavy. I walk next to Arthur and put a hand on his shoulder. His focus remains on Ava.

I withdraw and look at each healer before meeting Shadowheart's eye. "Thank you," I say quietly. "If you need anything, let me know, immediately."

Shadowheart gives a soft nod.

Arthur hiccups once more as I step away.

I tap a passing cleric. "Have you seen the lieutenant?"

"No, and thank the gods for it."

I press my lips together and give him a pat on the back.

I walk the halls, slowly taking inventory of the damage. Bodies. Everywhere. I feel a calm familiarity. Followed by a sinking dread. I find myself seeing her everywhere. Among the bodies. Among the workers. It's maddening that in each case, she isn't there. I check the platforms. Nothing. The marina. Nothing. I return to our empty camp... nothing.

I push the more unpleasant possibilities from my mind. I... I can't bear it right now.

I stop at the broken landing of the north wing and kneel in the middle of the many dead, bowing my head and closing my eyes. I hear the shuffling of workers removing the bodies. Occasionally I hear the groan of someone coming to.

Father. Witness my harvest in your name.

"A bounty indeed."

I could offer you so much more if you relieved me of the paltry sacrificial distractions every tenday.

"The sacrifices are how I demand devotion. I will not make an exception for one unsatisfied child."

But why ask for one body when I can build a world of unending war? Is that not my purpose?

"You whine while clinging to a lamb whose entire purpose is to keep you from murder."

I furrow my brow.

That one is perfecting my work. That one can see what I cannot.

"Are you incapable?"

Every conqueror needs advisors. She is invaluable to me.

The voice grows quiet among the other voices that still ring in my head.

"Varrick!" she calls from behind.

A rush runs through me and my eyes slowly open.

Thank you, Father.

She walks around me. She's unharmed as far as I can tell.

I reach up and she takes my hand. "Are you hurt?" I ask.

"No. Thank you." She's trembling. She looks like she's been crying. "And you?" She gently runs her hand across the side of my face. Blood smears onto her palm and her brow creases.

It's only then I realize the extent of the damage to my face.

"You look like a mess," she says with a soft laugh.

"I am alive. Doni will be pleased to know."

She gently folds her arms around my head and holds me against her chest. A blue light pulses from her hands, and my pain subsides.

"Thank you." My voice is barely a whisper.

Her breath shudders. "I saw you drop into the lava. I thought you..." Her voice grows tight. She looks down at me, holding my face. She tugs her sleeve down and laughs lightly. "You have blood in your mustache." She tries to wipe it away.

I smile. "Gods forbid the siege ruin my rakish looks."

She gives another quiet laugh and pulls out a kerchief, daubing my face. "Gods forbid." She hesitates and her lips part, then she shifts back. "Now that I've accounted for you, I should coordinate-" A few stray tears fall despite her efforts. She runs her sleeve across her face and clears her throat. She turns to leave.

I lift my hand, letting her tail drag over my palm. She slows, then stops, glancing back at me.

"...Want me."

She straightens and her attention shifts across the dead, before returning to me.

I close my fingers around her tail. Wait. Then gently pull her back, one hand over the other.

"Want me."

She stops in front of me. "Varrick." Her voice is choked.

I take her hands and kiss her fingers. I press them into my forehead, closing my eyes. I savor the feeling of her warmth.

"Want me..."

She holds for a moment, before tugging her hands free.

Her warmth vanishes.

Pain splits my chest.

My hands drop and my body slumps. I open my eyes, seeing the stone ground beneath my gore-stained armor.

...A foolish notion.

Then she tips my head up.

My heart stops.

And she presses her lips to mine, folding her arms around my neck.

I lift her as I stand, holding her close.