Chapter Text
Kima’s first thought, when Vox Machina had told her that a conclave of chromatic dragons had attacked Emon, had been fear for Allura. Allura was in Emon, and Emon was in danger, and Allura would defend her people, as she had always done, and Kima could bear anything, so long as she knew Allura was safe. Acid worry had threaded through her veins and stitched her lungs tight as she had pressed for any information they might have, any slim assurances or thin comforts they could provide. Relief had been solid ground under her feet when they had professed her safety, that Drake was with her, that she was free and whole and hopeful.
Kima had known better than to pray that those blessings might continue, when it was Allura’s own compassion and bravery that were their chiefest threat, but she had prayed nevertheless, for the protection of the people of Emon and Allura’s safety and forgiveness. She had reached for the rock of Bahamut and had felt him steady and strong at her back and had sighed deep in gratitude, knowing her prayers had been heard. She had accompanied Vox Machina to the Tomb of the Champion of the Raven Queen, and had felt no qualms, knowing her god was at her back. They had returned from that quest, objective acheived, and all had been well.
Then Vox Machina tells her of the return of Thordak, the Cinder King, and all else drowns in the howling wind of memory, thought and breath and voice all gone in a storm of lightning-white terror. She chokes on ash and dust and stumbles unsteadily to the door, then falls to her knees on the rough cobbles and prays that Bahamut will know her wordless intent.
A part of her wants to curse Bahamut, for she had long begged that this scourge would be forever absent from the material plane. But even in her distress she sees the futility of that prayer, for the gods work only through the faithful, and Bahamut could have only failed through her own inaction and cowardice. She is forsworn, if Thordak is returned indeed, but that is her own doing, not His. She is forsworn, and Allura, strongest, bravest, canniest, Allura, who is dearest to her of all save her god, will pay the price.
It is nigh unbearable, but it is the truth, and so must be borne, and so she does. It is one of the most painful things she has ever done, but she stands, and breathes, and marches forward. She is strong, and beneath the terror that still haunts her breath she feels anger building, the inexorable strength of it gathering deep in her gut. Soon it will shake free, and woe betide any who stand in her way. She is strong, and her faith is her bedrock, deep and sturdy and unassailable, her love like veins of precious ore threaded through inextricably. She loves Allura, and she loves Bahamut, and through them loves all in the world they love, and so she stands strong and will challenge any who threaten them, even the Cinder King.
And so she stands strong, and breathes, and fights.