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Chapter Text

The den was dark, dank, deserted, and dense with death.

A piece of skin fell from the ceiling. She flicked it off her arm. Hungering growls and the chaotic shuffling of limbs followed her footsteps. The zombies’ advance was clumsy, but deliberate. She stopped her march, and so did they.

Before her was a wreckage. Stray planks and rope pieces were scattered about, damp and falling apart from prolonged exposure to the rise and fall of the tides. It was the remnants of a rowboat, operated with haste and inexperience, hence the crash.

Lying on the side of that boat was a corpse, bloated, decayed.

She extended her arms. One of the zombies stumbled forward, and placed into her hand a glowing lantern. It emitted a dim, pulsing green light. It wasn't bright, but warm, which she brought towards the corpse. It was that of a girl, sixteen in age and low in class, almost finished rotting. Her hair once brown, her skin once fair, but then were almost one with the earth.

Setting down the lantern, she waved the zombies away. Her arms outstretched and fingers apart, she began to chant. The words clung together like pellets in the air, floating within the droplets falling from the cavern ceiling. Her arms twirled in a circular motion, while her fingers drew words of forbidden magic. A red ring formed beneath the corpse, creating a chasm separating the earth itself. Waves of insipid red energy seeped forth from the cracks and loomed over the deceased, before slowly enveloping the bones and picked flesh. With a squeeze of her hand, the lantern erupted into rays of green mist, fusing with the crimson of the earth.

Presently, the corpse began to reverse its rot. Holes in the skin were filled; broken limbs were mended; torn hair were reconnected, until the girl's body was indistinguishable from when she was still alive: starving and destitute.

She moved to place a hand on the girl’s chest. The words began to spin, kicking off pebbles and dirt around them. Her fingers sent a pulse down the girl’s core. The body convulsed for a few seconds, before settling. As the waves dispersed, she was there to catch as it fell.

The girl’s eyes slowly opened. Little by little, they took in the situation at hand, as best they could. After a moment to grasp reality, the girl coiled in fear.

“Stop,” she commanded.

The girl looked up to see a woman of dark hair, slim contour, and eyes glowing bright without any pupils. The black, eccentric robe she was wearing only added to the intimidation factor.

“I’m sorry,” the girl barely managed. “Please don’t hurt me.”

She shook her head. Such a pitiful creature, she thought. Rummaging through her pockets, she produced half a loaf of bread and handed it to the girl.

The girl received, incredulous, but didn’t let astonishment getting in the way of survival instincts. She watched the girl bite down on it with the ferocity of a starving animal. There wasn’t much, so the meal didn’t last, yet the girl looked up at her with watering eyes.

“Thank you.”

She pitied.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

The girl reminisced. There was water, lots of it. She remembered being swept away by the unnatural tides of Wraeclast, arms clutching desperately to the Allflame, as if it could’ve saved her. She remembered the pursuit of serpentine monsters of mud, and seeking refuge in this cave. She remembered being wounded, and bleeding out. She shuddered.

“I was dying,” the girl finally replied.

“You died,” said the woman. “I revived you.”

The girl wasn’t sure how to respond. It was unlikely, but it was also the only explanation she’s been given. This was when the girl noticed the runic circle and cracked earth beneath, thus had no choice but to believe it.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

“What is your name?”

The girl pondered.

“Evelyn.” A sheepish reply.

“Well, Evelyn, you’re with me from now on.”

The girl nodded.

“What's your name?” she asked.

The woman seemed taken aback by this question. It was not one she received often. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone bothered, not since the burning of her sisters on the pyre years ago.

“I am called the Witch,” she answered.

Evelyn scratched her head.

“But what do I call you?”

“You shall call me Mistress.”

The Witch wasn’t expecting a declination, and was satisfied when none came. She motioned the girl to stand beside. Evelyn was hesitant after noticing the army of undead in the way. The Witch dismissed them with a flicker of her hand, letting Evelyn squeeze herself into the new clearing.

She thrusted her arm forward, and drew a long oval rune. Metallic tentacles erected from the ground, tips converged at a high point, whence a blinding purple rift tore into existence. The Witch stepped through wordlessly. Evelyn was dubious, but the ushering of growling zombies at her back was the push she required.

As her feet stood firm on the other side of the portal, she found herself on a crumbling fortified watch tower. Ragged tapestry made up the majority of what was a sorry excuse for a ceiling. The rain was heavy, grinding away at the wall brick by brick. Groups of refugees huddled around bonfires, poorly protected by old blankets tied together, nervously looking up at every drop of the torrent threatening their only source of light and warmth.

“What do we have here?”

Evelyn turned to face the man approaching her. Despite the freezing cascade, he had on nothing but a brown tricorne and a pair of stained trousers cut up to his knees, right hand rubbing his protruding gut. He wore a devilish smile, gaze sizing her up.

“Excuse me,” Evelyn retreated.

“Who are you supposed to be?” A lecherous grin accompanied his pitched, raspy voice.

“She’s my slave.”

Bestel took a hesitant step back as the Witch moved in front of the girl. He fancied a jest, but those dead, pupiless eyes glancing down on his own didn’t indicate a high tolerance for humour. Clicking his tongue, he backed off.

“And here I thought there was a dim light for this old soul,” he said, staring at the hypothetical star.

The Witch didn’t pursue, instead motioned Evelyn to follow. By the far side of the camp, stood a man whose right eye was wrapped in a bandage. His body was of one who frequented combat, riddled with scars across bulging muscles. His left hand hovered about the proximity of the hilt of his greatsword, which, from its stunted edge and grainy blade, had seen its own share of battle.

“Another mouth to feed?” asked the man.

“Evelyn.” The Witch made an introductory motion towards the girl, then the man. “Tarkleigh.”

“Pleasure.” He extended a hand. Evelyn shook it without a reply. His grip was firm and rocky, hers soft and weak.

“Where is she from?” he asked.

“A ship.” A pause. “Fairgrave’s ship.”

“Fairgraves?” He was baffled. “Wasn’t he marooned months ago? Has she been there all along?”

“Yes.”

In this inopportune moment, Evelyn found her stomach growling, despite the earlier portion. She failed to hide her embarassment.

“Get her some bread,” demanded the Witch.

“We don’t have rations for her. There’s nothing left over. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” said Tarkleigh.

“Give her mine.”

He and the girl exchanged a glance. Shrugging, he produced some hardtack and a medium-sized loaf of musty bread, which Evelyn took. He pointed at a corner, where an old cracked vase sit, a stained dipper hanging from its edge.

“Fresh water’s in there. You can also just drink from the rain, if you prefer.”

“Thank you,” she said, eyes not leaving the food.

“You can just eat it.”

The Witch’s approval sent the girl into a modest frenzy, crushing even the hardtack with great speed, with bread soon to follow into the nethers.

“She looks like she hasn’t eaten in months,” Tarkleigh commented.

The Witch watched the girl intensely. It had been a long time since she had desired anything as much as that girl did food. It was a perplexing, yet oddly comforting, sight.

“What do you plan to do next?” asked Tarkleigh. “The longer we wait, the harder it will be to find Nessa again.”

“She’s your problem, not mine,” said the Witch.

“Be that as it may, she is important to us here at the Watch. If her warnings were sincere, the more we wait, the deeper her mind shall fall into the Brine King’s clutches.”

The Witch didn’t bother replying.

“You’d need to do better than that.”

“Please,” he pleaded. His voice earnest and more vulnerable than it ever had been.

Speaking those reassuring words were simple, yet the Witch has yet to. She didn’t believe finding Nessa would be a problem, but why should she invite on responsibilities?

Perhaps she empathised.

“I shall.”

“Appreciate it,” said Tarkleigh. His usual stern, scarred expression was stretched to the point of breaking. “We owe you.”

“I’ll get going in the morning. Take care of her while I’m gone.”

The Witch motioned a finger towards Evelyn, who at this point had finished her old, cold, and mouldy meal. The girl rubbed her arms, trying to keep warm to no avail. Her shivers were only intensifying. The Witch gently escorted Evelyn towards her place at camp, where she produced a blank, white, and clearly oversize tunic. It reached the girl's knees in length. Evelyn retreated her arms into the fabric as the cold subsided. Calm, she saw the Witch standing under the downpour, rain drops like arrowheads bouncing off that impossibly pale skin.

“Are you not cold as well?” she asked, “Mistress?”

The Witch shook her head. She rolled out the bedroll stashed nearby, and told the girl to lie down. Evelyn complied, huddled up in her inadequate attire.

“Sleep."

“What time is it?” the girl asked.

“Late.” The Witch paused to look at the stars, blurred behind the flurry of rain. “Too late.”

“Aren’t you sleeping too, mistress?”

“It doesn't help.”

These blunt answers hammered at the girl’s curiosity. Still, she obeyed. Curling up to her side, she tried to relax. It was difficult, given the rough terrain and skimpy clothes she was given. Her body quaked, and the urge to cry was rising.

Presently, she felt a soft, cold touch on her cheek. The Witch had sat down beside her, and extended a hand to caress the girl’s features. Their gazes collided. Those blank irises still piercing, but the eyebrows conveyed a softness that instilled reassurance. She stopped shaking. Under the drumming of the hail, Evelyn’s consciousness faded.

Chapter Text

Eramir sat, hands palmed on one another, crossed-legged in front of the shabby tent. He had lived for many years, yet he had sparsely felt this sense of anxiety in quite some time. Even after Greust’s untimely possession and subsequent death, he didn’t feel this weight for the future. He had thought a lot, but no solution presented itself. He could only sit, for he had no advice for someone whose conviction overwhelmed his own.

A gentle hand touched his.

Eramir opened his eyes to see the familiar face of a girl. Her brown hair covered the left half of her face, leaving visible only a deeply troubled expression.

“Evelyn. What is it you require?” he asked.

“Is it alright if we talk in private?” she asked.

Eramir didn’t oft stand, both for the sake of his age and his concentration, but he saw no need to deny the girl’s request. The two found themselves a secluded corner of the Bridge Encampment. Even then, he caught Evelyn’s eyes darting to and fro, watching out for eavesdroppers.

“What troubles you, girl?”

A tinge of paranoia still lingered on her face; Evelyn turned to him at last.

“I’m sorry to disturb your meditation, but I couldn’t find anyone else left to ask.” She fidgeted, and lightly scratched her neck. “Mistress has not returned for some days. I understand she has explicitly forbidden me from worrying, but I cannot help myself.”

“Are you lonely, young one?”

“Yes.” The reply was quick, and led to stammering. “But… it’s not because of that. I’m truly worried for mistress’ well-being. She isn’t usually gone this long.”

“How many days has it been?” he asked.

Evelyn counted on her fingers. It was difficult for her.

“At least a week,” she answered.

“That is rather unusual, I suppose.” Eramir stroked his bearded chin. “The Witch I know have always proven to be rather efficient, ruthless even, in her exploits. Did she tell you where she was going beforehand?”

“She mentioned heading for the Vaal City, and she did tell me it was going to be a lengthy expedition.”

“But this was too long?” he asked.

Evelyn nodded, blatant worry on her face.

He considered the journey. Undoubtedly the Witch’s ultimate goal was to save Silk from Arakaali, but Vaal City and the ensuing Temple of Decay are notorious both for their treacherous mazes and hazardous denizens. No doubt navigating them would take a good chunk of time, but Eramir couldn’t imagine them posing as actual threats to someone like her.

He held his fingertips together.

“Evelyn, dear,” he began, “the path your mistress walks has ghouls and gods aplenty, but I’ve never once feared for her safety. She’s a determined woman, too much so depending on whom you ask. I understand that my words are just that, and they would not bring you peace should you choose not to receive it. Still, I implore you to have more faith.”

A brief silence passed.

“I’m sorry. I shan’t trouble you any longer.” Evelyn looked no less crestfallen than before, despite her best attempt to hide it. Eramir could only sigh.

“Why don’t we focus on something else, instead?” He urged. “Something to take your mind off this matter. Surely you recognise we could not help even if we wanted to.”

“What ‘something else’?” she asked.

It was question that took him by surprise, but only for a moment.

“What do you like to do, usually? For leisure?”

Evelyn thought about it.

“The only thing I do is talk to people.” She stared at her own hands. “I can’t really do anything else.”

“You’re downplaying your own capabilities, young girl. I’m sure someone here can use the extra hand, so long as you’re willing to help. Are you?”

He received a sheepish nod. He tenderly nudged her back to the campfire. There was a gathering, for it was close to supper time.

“Helena,” Eramir called. “Evelyn here would like to offer help, if you need it.”

“Of course.” The blonde woman motioned them over. “Perfect timing. Evelyn, can you please take over stirring the soup for me? I need to get some more ingredients.” With a firm and reassuring hand, the Helena handed the girl her ladle. “Also, make sure the fire doesn’t go out. There’re logs just by the pillar.”

As she disappeared from view, Eramir gave Evelyn a smile.

“You may not stay here for too much longer, but while you still eat the same food as we do, you’re one of us, my dear.” He tapped her on the shoulder. “Everyone’s here a little lonely. You won’t need help finding people that’d appreciate a bit of relief.”

Evelyn found herself absorbed by the process. It wasn’t cooking, not really, for she was no chef. Still, she knew how to do housework, courtesy of having been a house slave, ship after ship. It reminded her of Fairgraves, what a conniving man he was. Gentlemanly in his speech, but rowdy hands as any. She would in fact consider herself lucky that his ship was marooned and she was cast on shore, for she couldn’t have stood to bear his loathsome presence any longer.

Helena was back before long, carrying some saffron and basil. The woman shredded the herbs and spread them evenly into the cauldron. The girl caught a pungent, sweet smell arising, and she knew her mouth watered. Helena was pleased.

“Do you recognise these ingredients, Evelyn?” the woman asked.

“Yes. They’re less common in Oriath, but I’ve seen them in cupboards.” Evelyn’s excitement almost got the better of her. “I’m not much of a cook or anything, though.”

“That’s fine, because I am.” Helena put forth a beaming smile. “I’ve always wanted an extra hand. You’d be perfect.”

“Thank you.” The girl didn’t know how to react to such a straight compliment. “I’m sure handling all this yourself is a handful.”

The woman’s smile nearly vanished.

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always the cook around here.” She tasted the soup with a small wooden spoon. “Greust used to insist on doing it himself. Even when he’s on patrol he had to make sure the food was just the way he preferred. He only let me help after learning that he liked my food as well.”

“I’ve not met Greust, but Mistress told me he was a good man.”

Helena blinked in surprise.

“She did?” the woman asked.

“Yes. Mistress said that he was a man who put his loved ones above all, and that at the end of the day there’s nothing else you can ask for.”

“Does she… relate?” Helena contemplated. “Sorry, Evelyn. I can’t deny my shock, for I’ve never gotten the impression that the Witch and Greust liked each other very much. Your mistress was always a woman of few words, even fewer to him.” She sighed. “Though I suppose they don’t have to like each other to understand each other."

Evelyn mulled over that for a second.

"Do you think Mistress likes me, miss Helena?”

The woman chuckled.

“I dare say you’re the only person she likes. She went out of her way to revive you, did she not?” She patted the girl’s messy hair. “Is there something that makes you believe otherwise?”

“I’m not sure.” The girl blushed. “I’m just not used to feeling like this.”

“A harsh life you must have led,” Helena said. “It’s alright to be unsure. Some things take time. You’ll get there eventually.”

The two smiled at each other.

Supper was uneventful. Everyone exchanged a few choice words, then to the food their attention went. Not many ventured beyond the camp’s borders these days, for reports of unrests along the crossroads have circulated. Even the hunters opted to take a few cuts to their meals rather than risk angering any more unknown gods.

The stars were out. Helena waved goodbye to her before she went to her tent. Evelyn lay awake still, her gaze onto the southern shores.

Presently, an azure rift materialised out of thin air, near the docks. The girl vaulted on her feet, for she knew what was to come. From the other side, a slim, stumbling silhouette stepped out. It was her mistress; she knew it in an instant. As she ran to welcome the Witch back, she noticed something wrong. Beneath her mistress usual off-coloured robe was a blood red streak. The Witch was hurt, a very uncommon occurrence, and she looked to be hurt badly. Her steps were few and staggered, and the girl noticed she wasn’t the only one on the scene. Sin, the supposed trickster god, was also quick to attend.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “What has become of Arakaali?”

“Dead,” the Witch’s raspy voice was marred by exhaustion. “So is Silk.”

“Mixed news, but regardless, you need help.” He conjured an orb of black energy between his hands. “If you’d allow me.”

“No.” A very firm yet astonishing declaration. “Evelyn.”

“Yes mistress.” The girl put the Witch’s arm over her shoulder, as the two lurched back to their tent.

Evelyn laid her mistress down.

“You must get your wounds looked at, Mistress.”

“Sin was just being dramatic. I’ll have these empty potion bottles refilled by morning. It would be no matter.” The Witch extended a hand, compelling the girl to grasp it. She pulled the girl down with little force, until they were eye to eye on the mat. “You’ve cried recently, have you?”

Evelyn nodded.

“I was worried that you weren’t coming back, Mistress.”

“Do you think I’d leave you? Or do you think I’d lose?” the Witch asked, her voice stern.

Evelyn was unable to find a satisfying answer.

“I’m sorry.”

It was only when she saw the sly smile on her mistress’ face, did she know she was not in trouble. Embarrassed, she buried her face in the Witch’s chest, causing a slight wince.

“Evelyn,” the Witch whispered, “do not hide.”

The girl obliged, but her expression turned positively crimson the longer their eyes locked. She nearly turned away, but the Witch’s fingers disallowed it.

“Mistress, may I ask you a question?” Her voice was trembling.

“You may.”

“Why did you save me?”

The Witch craned an eyebrow.

“Do you not wish to have been saved?”

“No, nothing of such. I’m eternally grateful.” The girls’ words were quick and shaky. “I just want to know why me, in particular. There were plenty of corpses littering the roads of Wraeclast, why did you pick me?”

The Witch mused.

“Do you wish to know why you’re special?”

“No, I-”. A pause. “Yes.”

“Fairgraves mentioned you.”

It was Evelyn’s turn to be taken aback.

“What did he say?”

“He cursed your name with the most uncourteous of words. It is precisely because he spoke of you betraying him, that I knew you would never betray me.”

“I don’t understand,” the girl confessed.

“You don’t need to.”

The Witch drew her in closer, and placed those pale lips on the girl’s cheeks. Evelyn felt the cool breath of her mistress caressing her skin. It was a tingling sensation, one she was familiar, but never used to.

“Mistress?”

“Go to sleep, Evelyn.”

The girl closed her eyes, and felt the slow heartbeat pressed against her chest. She wrapped her arms around that slender frame, clutching its warmth into every fibre of her being.

Chapter Text

Clarissa slumped, her auburn hair falling over her teary eyes. She wrapped her thin cape over her exposed thighs as she sat down on the rug. Her face in her arms, she sobbed. No one disturbed her for hours, but one eventually did.

“Clarissa?”

She lifted her gaze to meet that of another, the first time today.

“Oh, Evelyn.” Clarissa hastily wiped away the tears from her swollen eyes, trying her best to force a more cheerful demeanour. “Hey there. Does the Witch need something?”

“No, she’s not here right now.” The brunette kneeled down so that their eyes are levelled. “Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

A moment of consideration.

“No.” Clarissa scooted over a bit. “Go ahead.”

Evelyn planted herself on the same rug, beneath the poorly constructed collection of oozing barrels, stained tapestries, and rotting wooden beams that Clarissa called a shop. There they sat, shoulder to shoulder.

“You’re crying again,” said Evelyn.

Clarissa didn’t know how to answer. She only nodded. There was no need nor room for deception, as sadness had already scarred her heart, which bled ever so often. She could only manage a weak smile.

“It’s just… hard to not think about him.”

Evelyn offered a knowing hand, cupping Clarissa’s with her own.

“Tell me about him.”

Clarissa took out a green bracelet from her jacket, kneading it carefully between her fingers.

“He was always really good at making me laugh.” A small smile crept onto her face as she reminisced. “Used to hold my hands and tell me we’re going to get a 3-headed cat for a pet after we get married. He never proposed though, always said he couldn’t find the right ring.”

“That’d be hard to get under your circumstances,” commented Evelyn.

“Yeah. He has a lot of humour in it, but deep down I think he was annoyed he couldn’t get me one similar to this in value.” Clarissa handed Evelyn the bracelet for the younger girl to inspect. “I gave this to him when he first arrived.”

Evelyn examined the jewellery. It was a double-looped bracelet made up of a thick, green hemp string, accented by various golden beads.

“It looks good,” she said.

“No, it doesn’t.” Clarissa shook her head. “It’s pathetic. It was shoddy craftsmanship, made entirely under too much crunch and lack of materials. I didn’t want this to be the last thing he remembers me by. He told me he’d never take it off, and I guess he didn’t. Stubborn to a fault.”

Evelyn couldn’t do much but nod. She gently placed the bracelet onto Clarissa’s wrist, sliding it past the black glove.

“I think the memories is what makes it important. It might not be your best work, but as a keepsake is unforgettable.”

“That’s what Maramoa tells me.” Clarissa made an effort to unbundle her hair. “She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. I don’t exactly have much else to think about.”

Evelyn takes Clarissa’s hand in hers, squeezing in softly.

“Well, there are others here. From what I’ve spoken to them, I think they all care about you one way or another.”

Clarissa’s small smile twisted into a dry smirk.

“Pity is what that is. It’s the same thing I used to feel for Grigor, for when he was still here in Sarn. Now those eyes are on me, and it’s insufferable.” She curled an impotent fist. “I weep for my lost love, all the whilst they stand and stare, offering one vacuous condescension after another. Yet, I have not the strength to claim I do not deserve such.”

The conversation drifted off. Evelyn continued to sit beside Clarissa, who was compelled to make a few meagre trades for travellers and exiles finding their way to Sarn throughout the day. As the sun descended over the castle walls, the shop was closed.

“It shall be time for supper soon, Evelyn.” Clarissa sat back down. “Before then, if you would indulge my curiosity. Can you tell me how you and your mistress crossed paths? I must admit, the Witch wasn’t someone I foresaw to have taken an apprentice like yourself. Do not confuse my questions with doubt, I’m grateful for her interventions.”

Evelyn flashed a slight blush.

“I’m not sure if I consider myself her apprentice, more of a servant. Not that I mind of course, she saved me from death itself, and hasn’t treated me badly. I’m forever grateful to her.”

“Saved you from death?” Clarissa asked. It was a deliberate, probing question.

“Yes. I was a slave, serving on the ship of one Captain Fairgraves. I stole the Allflame from him, a sort of magical lantern, but was killed by sea monsters on the shores when I marooned. It was mistress who brought me back to life.”

Evelyn’s innocent confession took its time to settle. Clarissa stared at her throughout, an impossible expression overtook the auburn-haired woman’s face.

“You were dead? Then the Witch brought you back?” she asked, each word lingering in the air like the dew of dusk.

“That’s what she said, yes. I don’t understand the mechanics of it myself.”

“You were allowed to defy death, yet…” Clarissa’s lips curled into a frown. “Why you? Why you of all people?”

Fear plagued Evelyn’s eyes as she took a step back.

“Clarissa, are you ok?”

Clarissa grabbed the girl by her shoulders, shaking her.

“Does the Witch still have it? This 'Allflame'? Can she still use it to bring my Tolman back?”

Evelyn shook her head, shivering.

“Mistress said she had already discarded the thing; it wasn’t of any use anymore. Please, Clarissa, I’m sorry, but Tolman…”

“Don’t you speak his name. After all I’ve tried and failed, yet you walk around with your memories and humanity intact. How is that fair?”

Clarissa’s shrieking stopped. She felt a cold, slim palm placed on her shoulder. She jerked away, letting Evelyn loose. Turning around, she recoiled from the very embodiment of death itself.

A slim silhouette towered over her, those blank, white orbs radiated a venomous cold seeping under her skin, as she began to shudder uncontrollably. Those pale, blue lips parted, releasing an icy voice that threatened to suck away her soul.

“What do you think you’re doing to her?” asked the Witch.

“I’m sorry, please,” begged Clarissa, ducking for cover, hiding her face. “I didn’t hurt her. I was just…”

“Mistress!”

Evelyn wrapped her arms around the Witch’s waist, holding her back with all of her might. Her skin felt the scorching frost exuding from that contour, consuming all life around it. The Witch stopped in her tracks, not by force, rather confusion.

“What is the meaning of this, Evelyn?”

“Please Mistress. She didn’t mean it. She was just overwhelmed.” Evelyn locked her fingers between the Witch’s, pulling her away. “Let’s just have supper, please. Would that be alright?”

Clarissa felt the cold of death departing, looking up to see the Witch stepping away. She dropped her head and breathed, feeling the fear momentarily subside. There was nothing else to fill that void.

Evelyn took her mistress back to their quarters, and lit the campfire. She hurried to prepare the rations and make soup. The heat from the flame warmed her skin as she got to cooking. She had learnt a lot from Helena, and tried her best every day to improve her culinary skills.

“Here, please eat, mistress.”

Evelyn placed a bowl of fish stew into the Witch’s hand, who slowly took in the aroma.

“It smells good.”

Evelyn beamed at the compliment. She watched her mistress eat the food slowly, warmth filling her stomach, and butterflies.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes, of course. Please excuse me.”

Evelyn grabbed her own portion, and had her own supper. Her eyes never left her mistress, however. She finished much faster, waiting for the Witch to be done. Presently, the two sat by the fire after, Evelyn huddling next to her mistress’ side.

“What’s wrong with Clarissa?” asked the Witch.

“She misses her love. I believe she wishes it was him whom you revived instead of me.”

The Witch narrowed her eyes.

“How conceited, and after all that I’ve done to clean up her mess.”

Evelyn wrapped her arms around her mistress’ hips.

“Please do not be mad, Mistress. She’s just very lonely.”

The Witch idly tapped her fingers on the table.

“Are you?” she asked.

Evelyn let the question hang for a moment.

“I am, mistress. Whenever you’re gone for days, or weeks.” She slowly touches the woman’s arm, her slender fingers gently pressing into that icy skin. “But I know you’d always come back to me, and that helps. Clarissa doesn’t have that hope.”

“You’re too kind for your own good, girl,” said the Witch, but she makes no effort to reject Evelyn’s touch. “Be that as it may, you'd do well to stay away from that woman. She’s not a good influence.”

Evelyn didn’t agree right away. The ensuing silence only made the delay more noticeable.

“Mistress,” she began. “Please don’t be angry, but I’d like to ask you a question.”

The Witch’s thin eyebrows moved.

“Go ahead.”

“Clarissa just wanted to see her lover again. Why is that worse than you reviving me in that cave? You and I were nothing to each other.”

Evelyn yelped after she finished that sentence. She felt a sub-zero pulse crackling in the air, forcing her to step away. She rubbed her arms as the cold overtook their tent.

“You’re being awfully presumptuous, girl,” the Witch spoke through gritted teeth.

Evelyn curled into a ball, trembling underneath the intense pressure. Presently, it slowly dissipated. Opening her frightened eyes, she saw her mistress still sitting, but the murderous aura was no longer there. Instead, it was replaced with a mystifying expression, not helped by the fact that the Witch hadn’t any pupils.

“I’m sorry.”

Evelyn was confused as to what to say, but her mistress remained still. It was almost a minute later until she spoke.

“Come here.”

Sheepish, the girl obliged. She hesitated in sitting down, but she did it with conviction.

“Are you angry?” she asked.

“Irrelevant. I’ve contemplated your insolence, and deem it worthy.”

Evelyn blinked.

“Worthy?”

“It’s a logical question, from where you stand.”

“But not yours?”

“No. The Allflame is mine by might, and it is mine to expend. It wasn’t a matter of on whom I expended it. Clarissa, the naïve girl, is consumed by jealousy and regret. It’s not something worthy of your sympathy.”

Evelyn nodded slowly. It wasn’t her intentions to win an argument. She leant into the Witch, arms wrapped around that chilly skin, face buried into those slender arms.

“Mistress, can I be your apprentice?”

“My apprentice?” A truly perplexing question.

“Yes. I wish to be with you outside the camp. If I may offer any assistance, I shall.”

“Doubtful. You’re untrained in any real combat capacity. You cannot even keep yourself alive, girl, do you wish to burden me?”

Evelyn slowly pulled away, those words encircling her heart like spikes.

“You’re-,” she stuttered, “you’re right, Mistress. I’m not very helpful. Please disregard my request.”

The downcast in her voice was transparent, but it did not stir any pity. The Witch snapped her fingers, and a wave of frost overtook their campfire, snuffing out all sources of embers. She moved to Evelyn’s straw bed and sat down.

“Time to sleep, Evelyn.”

Evelyn obliged without much thought. She lay down, her head on her mistress’ lap. Usually, this would bring her joy, and it still did, but she didn’t drift off right away. She held on to her mistress’s hands as it caressed her pale cheeks. Swirling in her head was dejection and determination of equal amounts, and odd question mark for the weeks to come.

Chapter Text

Evelyn sat cross-legged on the faded, embroidered rug, a tribute from the Maraketh. Even within this leather tent, she could feel so many eyes on her. She clutched her cloak with anxiety, trying to hide that which lined her inner pocket. 

“My dear Evelyn.”

Startled at the sound of her name, despite the anticipation, she caught herself staring blankly towards the entrance. There stood a brunette, whose braided hair fell over her shoulders, sharp as a whip. A pearl pendant dangled from her neck, drawing Evelyn’s wandering eyes to strange places.

She eventually snapped out of it.

“Yes, Ms. Vanja? What do you need?”

Vanja looked about. People were whispering, but she knew better than to care.

“Won’t you walk with me, dear Evelyn? I believe a conversation would do you good.”

Evelyn was too timid to say no, but it was odd to see Vanja without her better half. The woman gave her a hand, which she took with some hesitation. The two departed for a more private spot, one held her chest nearly as high as her head, the other slinking back to her own form in a poor attempt at diverting attention. They found themselves on the edge of camp, secluded, a brief respite from prying eyes.

“Petarus is not with you?” asked Evelyn.

“I speak for both of us, dear. For the last week since your arrival, have we been anything but cordial and welcoming to you?” said Vanja, probing.

“No,” Evelyn’s answer was curt, not out of rudeness, but of unease.

“Then allow me to be frank. Your mistress, the Witch, will eventually return with the Feather of Sekhema. You and I both have little doubt of her eventual success, would you agree?”

Evelyn nodded.

“Yes, I’m sure mistress will not be gone for much longer.” An answer to a completely different question.

Vanja narrowed her eyes, but continued nevertheless.

“Has she told you who she plans to give the feather to?”

A quick shake of the head was the first reply.

“Mistress never consults or share decisions like that with me. I doubt she respects my opinion very much.”

Vanja clicked her tongue.

“My dear Evelyn, you should not hold yourself in such little regard. I’ve seen the way you talk to each other in your tent, even if I couldn’t overhear. Your Mistress’ exploits are well known across Wraeclast, yet none could share a single tale of her exchanging more than a few annoyed sentences at most with anyone.” The brunette’s gaze locked onto its target. “Except for you.”

Evelyn blushed.

“You must believe me, Ms. Vanja. I don’t do much. I just…”

She stopped herself midway, unsure of whether to divulge anymore. Vanja waited for a continuance which never came. Impatient, she put a firm hand on the girl’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, Evelyn. Neither you nor your mistress are residents of Highgate, yet the future of this town rests entirely on your hands.”

Evelyn waved her hands defensively.

“Ms. Vanja, I do not mean to impose.”

“Listen, girl.” Both shoulders now. “I know your mistress makes the decision, but if you were by her ear, with a stray suggestion or two, it wouldn’t hurt, now would it?”

Flustered by the contact, Evelyn could only look down.

“I… I suppose not,” she murmured.

“Exactly. If you can, put in a good word for Tasuni. He’d make a greater leader. He has my blessing.”

An uncomfortable pause as Vanja slowly backed off.

“Did he… ask you to talk to me?”

Vanja’s expression shifted unreadably, but it nevertheless changed.

“I admire his ambitious approach to leadership. With him, something may actually change around here. We might have a way forward.”

Evelyn raised her head, stammering.

“Please tell him to speak directly with me in the future.”

Stunned, Vanja watched as the girl retreated from view.

Evelyn hurried back to her tent, away from the desert heat. Only when she sat back down inside her tent, did she realise she was sweating. It was hot, but that wasn’t why. She slumped onto her sheets, conflicting thoughts circling her minds and took their toll on her consciousness.

It was not until the night chill grazed her skin did she lazily rise. Her flesh was cold and prickly, forcing her out onto the open for air, and food. She could not walk five steps without being noticed, however, as Vanja flagged her down from across the square. Next to her were her ever loyal lover, and the blind gloom. She joined them, for her mistress has dictated so, but her steps did not carry swiftness.

“There is our dear Evelyn,” said Vanja, urging her to sit across them by the fire. 

“I hope you’ve slept well.” Petarus greeted her with a warm smile, which only contrasted the lack of similar expressions on the other two’s faces. His rippling muscles were glistening with sweat, hinting at his recent post as a guard. “We have prepared supper, and mead, if you were to partake.”

Evelyn smiled at him in return, but did not reply to his invitation. Sitting down, she was handed a few skewers of roasted boar, fatty juices dripping from the wood as she gripped them tight. She only ate in silence, all the while Tasuni watched her with his blind gaze. Sometimes, she couldn’t tell if he really was, behind his rustic clothes and bandana. He seemed to have already finished his meal, opting instead to loom over the food in his grey, faded robe.

As she finished her first skewer, Vanja’s words pierced the stillness.

“Tasuni would like to speak directly with you, my dear Evelyn.”

The girl only waited, but the man obliged.

“I am Tasuni, he who listens to the earth, and answers in turn. I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Evelyn, but I have heard of you.”

“I’m nobody in particular,” she answered, making herself smaller in the night air.

“Be that as it may, I must implore you with a tale.” He placed his hand across his lap, and took a long breath. “Months prior, when the Beast was still raging within the mountain deep, I spoke its words most faithful. When the Witch silenced its pain and consumed its heart, I was the thread that set her own the path. You can ask her, and she will tell it true, for she could be many things, but not deceitful. She heeded my words then, and should she do so again, the future is promising for the Maraketh.”

As he spoke, Evelyn tore the last piece of meat of the skewer with her gnawing teeth. She turned to Petarus biefly.

“Can I please have some of the mead?”

He beamed, passing her a wineskin. She took it gratefully, but dared not drink it yet.

“What would you do, should you become the new ruler of Highgate?” she asked Tasuni.

An unbecoming smirk flashed on his lips, but it didn’t last.

“I shall guide my people towards a brighter future, a dream I’ve dreamt since I was a boy. It is time we leave behind the past. Traditions only resulted in loss, and it is time to gain.”

Evelyn contemplated his words.

“What about Irasha? Do you believe she’ll follow your lead?”

He shook his head.

“Spit and curse as she might, her duty shall overcome her apprehension. She will bow, as customs dictate.”

“I understand. Thank you for your time.” Evelyn stood up, the wineskin still in hand. “Please let me borrow this for tonight, Petarus.”

“It is yours to do as you wish,” said Petarus, a concerned look in his eyes.

Evelyn spent the next hour nibbling on the alcohol in her tent, feeling its buzz every time she blinked. It was sour, but a bit sweet, and tastes better on her lips than in her mouth or down her throat.

Presently, she donned a dark hood and cloaked, before sneaking outside. No more eyes were on her at this hour. Step by step she went, until she she was on the rampart walls, behind where Irasha stood. The blue-haired woman, one arm slinging from her shoulder, peered into the distance, watching the perimeter. Evelyn approached her slowly.

“May I have a word, Ms. Irasha?”

The woman did not immediately react. After a moment, she turned to meet the girl’s stare.

“Let’s walk.”

The two sauntered off atop the walls, as the chirping of the night birds accentuated their steps.

“What do you need, Evelyn?”

“I would like to know how you’re feeling,” the girl said, handing over the half-consumed wineskin. “Would you like some?”

Irasha smiled.

“Not tonight. I’m on lookout, and with little time to spare.” She turned her head to do another scan.

“You’re on guard quite often for a chieftainess,” Evelyn commented.

“Privileges do not relief me of my duties. Besides, these powers are temporary. When the Beast Killer returns with the feather, there’s no guarantee I will keep this post.”

“Do you not think you deserve it?”

“Over Tasuni, you mean? I do.” Irasha clutched a fist, only to release it moments later. “Oyun was his own flesh and blood, yet I’ve not heard him ask after her. The only thing he thinks about is what he’s going to do once he becomes king, or worse, a god. A blind god, in all respects. Yet, we are at the mercy of an outsider, the Beast Killer, for what is to become of us, of the Maraketh people.”

“Do you… hate my Mistress?” 

“She’s a force of nature, a tornado raging in the desert. It is impossible to bend such a thing to my will, all I can hope is that she carries away our enemies. I do not hold contempt for her in my heart, but I hold uncertainty.”

They exchanged a look.

“The stories they told of her didn’t mention you, however. Tell me, does the fearsome Witch have a heart?”

Evelyn fingered the wineskin.

“I’d like to think so.”

“Then I hope the heart speaks of wisdom.” Irasha turned around. “Now please excuse me, I have a post to return to. Do you need help back to your tent?”

Evelyn regretted her refusal, as she stumbled her way back, grabbing at whichever rack and railing to keep herself still. An unassuming burp left her lips as she entered the tent. Incredulously, she realised she was not alone. Cold, white eyes followed her every movement as she tripped onto the bed, implanting a bruise on her knee which she wouldn’t feel until the next morning.

“Where have you been?” asked the Witch. “You’ve been drinking.”

Evelyn hastily moved to kneel before her, dropping the wineskin.

“I’m sorry Mistress, I was just out on a walk.” A small hiccup. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Never mind that, stand.” The Witch beckoned her up, and scanned the girl from head to toe. Eventually, she motioned her to sit back down. “Tell me, Evelyn, have you decided who to give the feather to?”

Evelyn unfurled her cloak, and gently lifted the Sekhema’s Feather from beneath, slowly kneading it between her fingers. Its blue, fierce tip reminded her of someone.

“Yes, Mistress.”

The Witch narrowed her eyes.

“When I gave you the feather two days ago, you said you couldn’t pick. Yet tonight there was no hesitation. Is it the alcohol that made the decision for you?”

Evelyn shook her head shyly. 

“No, Mistress.”

“Explain, then.”

“Tasuni does not regard anyone but himself. He speaks ill of the traditions of his own people, yet insists upon it when it’s time to force others to bend the knee,” she explained. “Irasha is rigid but dutiful, and she care for her people still. She doesn’t think herself above anyone, even now. She will not be the tyrant of Highgate like many before.”

The Witch nodded.

“You are correct in your assessment.”

Evelyn mused for a moment after the high of the praise left her cheeks.

“Why did you give me the choice, mistress? You’ve already known who the better pick was.”

“The fate of Highgate matters not to me,” affirmed the icy woman. “Tell me, did anyone try to get you to put a word in for them?”

“Yes mistress.”

“And how does it feel to know that the object of their desires was within your grasp the whole time, to do with as you please?”

Evelyn blinked.

Chapter Text

Vast, outstretched black wings overtook her vision, but there were no feathers, only impossibly congested darkness. Those wings wrapped around her budding form, tips like vestigial fingers falling on her back. His eyes, blue and clear, peered into her very soul. They searched and searched, but never told what they found.

“Your existence is a very interesting one, girl,” said Sin, his black form towering over hers.

“Why do you say so?” Evelyn asked.

“The Allflame only works when given a sacrifice, a life force of equivalence. Your Mistress might have told the story of how Fairgraves betrayed her to fuel his own resurrection.”

Evelyn nodded.

“She has.”

“She should not have been able to revive you in that cave without a tribute of her own, as I have told her when we landed back on Wraeclast. Yet, here you stand, and not an undead like Weylam Roth or Fairgraves himself, either. You are truly alive, with your own will and wants.”

“That was months ago, Sin, why does it matter now?”

“It bothers me greatly. I must confess, I have been looking into it myself, to no avail.”

Evelyn shrugged.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“I have, the very next morning you woke up on Lioneye’s Watch. I’m sure you can guess her answer.”

“She told you it was none of your concern.”

“Indeed, although in perhaps more colourful language.” Sin rubbed his smoky chin. “I would have no trouble leaving it alone, truth be told, but now it has become relevant.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, and did a quick scan about. She was still enveloped by Sin’s wings, and should she keep whispering, none would bother them.

“How?”

“Bannon. I’m sure you’ve seen him, if not talked to him.”

“He is Innocence’s vessel, so I’ve heard. He speaks of the spark of god within.”

“He speaks truth, but has elected to omit an inconvenient consequence. When the Witch eventually returns with the Staff of Purity, we shall use it to invoke my little brother. However, that will consume Bannon as the host, and rebirth Innocence as a god anew.”

“I see.” Evelyn wasn’t sure how to respond.

“However, if the Witch were to profess how she managed to bring your mortal soul back from the afterlife, perhaps there is hope for Bannon yet.”

Evelyn stared back into those azure eyes.

“And you want me to ask her?”

“You are the only one who can. Do not bother with deceit, for we both know it is impossible. Please, let me know of your efforts before it is too late.”

Without another word, he lifted the shroud from them. The Oriath docks unveiled its familiar light to her, as Sin retreated to his post. The sound and smell of brimming fire from the inner cities radiated even to here. Evelyn wasn’t expecting the return to her homeland to be like this, but there was nothing left for her here, no friends, no family, and certainly no love lost.

She walked along the pier, leather shoes lightly impressing upon creaky planks. On one end was the Black Crest, its captain all smiles and hips as if there wasn’t a cannibal god ravaging the city, on the other end was Lani, the Karui woman propped up on nothing but riddled guilt and doubts, lost in thoughts as per usual.

She headed back to her room on the ship.

It wasn’t long until there was a knock on her door. She sighed. Ever since her return to Theopolis, no one could leave her alone. It seemed every other hour, someone wanted to ask a favour of her. It all related to her mistress, of course, for what value did she possess on her own?

This was no different. A bald, slumping shadow dressed in black darkened her doorstep. Weylam scratched his scraggly beard and his squiggly bum, before helping himself into her room.

“Arr there lassie, just the one I wanted to see.”

“What do you need, Weylam?” Evelyn tried her hardest to keep the unkindness out of her voice, as he plopped onto a nearby table, leaning back.

“Ya see, being on the shores of Oriath got me thinking, and feeling. Was a time where the ladies’d be begging for a bit of ol’ Weylam. But I ain't felt the warm caress of a woman in a long time and it wounding me dreadful. During me time on the sea, I heard tale of Queen Atziri and her penchant fer using this land as a kinda vault for all her special shinies.”

“And you want me to convince Mistress to get it for you.” Evelyn shook her head in disbelief. “She’s on the quest to kill a god, Weylam, I don’t think she has time for that.”

He frowned.

“Don’t be dismissing me so swift, lass. I just want to feel the warmth in my cockles, like any other man. Not all of us can be as lucky as you, see.”

She puzzled over those words.

“What does that mean, pirate?”

“Aye, no need to be tight-lipped with ol’ Weylam. I know yer ain’t call that bony lass Mistress for nothing.” Her face scrunched up at his wink. “Don’t worry, me eyes ain’t meant for her, but me loins be yearning for some of that too, yer hear?”

Evelyn felt the hair on her skin rise.

“Please leave.”

Dusk arrived as she soaked her feet in the salt water of the bay. A warm breeze enveloped Evelyn, pruning the sweat from her hair. The current was remarkably calm, without any ship going in and out, in contrast to the scent of unending destruction emanating from inland. The water was so still, she could see her own reflection. Her hair was longer than it had ever been, draping over her shoulders to her hip. She no longer looked the starved teenage girl of the past, instead, a body of a nearly full-grown woman looked back at her. She pulled the cloak over herself, suddenly very conscious.

Presently, she saw another’s silhouette reflected within sight. Turning, she spotted Bannon approaching. He donned an off-white ceremonial garb, but his trousers were still that of the Oriathan army, dark red, bloodied. He sat down next to her, the lines on his aged face relaxing.

“It’s a pleasant afternoon.”

She stared at him: at his small, pointy chin, his unkempt, unimpressive beard, and his short, receding hairline.

“Good afternoon to you as well, Bannon,” she replied.

He smiled at her, a tired smile.

“I believe Sin has spoken to you, about me.”

“Yes he has. Do not worry, I shall try my best to speak to Mistress-”

He held up an interjecting palm, stopping her.

“No need to bother. I know when my time has come.” He clutched at his abdomen. “Innocence will have my body as his host, in all that I can offer. I do not intend to shy away from my responsibilities. Death is most welcome, knowing what I’ve accomplished.”

She gave him a courteous nod.

“Truth be told, I cannot imagine willingly dying. What you’re doing, it sounds noble, and I’m sure it is, but I don’t think I can sacrifice for a higher cause, like you.”

“That is because you are young, my friend.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ve lived a full life. I know for whom I serve, and for whom I must die. They tell me you were originally from Oriath, making you my a fellow countrywoman. Is that true?”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I was a handmaid of a noble’s daughter while I was younger, where I was taught courtship and literacy. However, as she grew up to be a courtesan, she was no longer in need of my services. I was sold into slavery at fourteen, and ended up on a pirate ship after being bought.”

They shared a glance.

“You’ve led a difficult life, for someone so young.” He sighed. “Decades I’ve served the High Templars without question, and my hands are not clean. Dominus commanded, so I obeyed as if I were blind. I might not have personally captured, whipped, or abused you, but I am guilty all the same.”

Evelyn squeezed her hand into a fist.

“I know,” she remarked.

“Yet you were willing to beg for my life?” He looked at her, his brows waving. “Sin was right. You are the best of us.”

The complement didn’t seem to affect Evelyn’s mood.

“Is your god speaking to you, from within?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Yes. He tells me that my road is at an end, and I have fulfilled my duties. I’ve protected him with all that I am, and he shall yet live because of me.”

A moment of deliberation as Evelyn contemplated her next words.

“Can I have your sword?”

Bannon stared at her, wide-eyed, yet he did not protest.

“I won’t be using it any longer. You can have it, as a token of our understanding.”

He unbuckled the scabbard from his belt, and handed it over. She stood up, holding the weapon in her hand, feeling its weight. Presently, she awkwardly unsheathed it, the tip drooping as she struggled to get a firm grip. Its edge glistened in the dusk light, reflecting off the bay water. Evelyn dropped the scabbard and grabbed the handle with both hands, slowly bringing it up and down. Her muscles ached and strained at the force she was exerting, but she didn’t stop.

Watching awkwardly, Bannon spoke.

“The sword is not a toy.” He couldn’t help himself. “If you wish to practice it, you’ll need a proper trainer, and it will be at least months before you are even semi-proficient. What are you hoping to accomplish?”

She met his confused gaze. Hers was anything but.

“I have my own god to protect.”

Chapter Text

The harsh Karui sun greeted Helena as she exited the vault. She squinted, and used her hand as a visor. It was a long day, albeit positive, still she couldn’t wait for it to end. The beach was calm, and she liked that. She was never much for the ocean, but all the travel forced an acceptance into her. She walked along the shoreline, taking in the various muffled noises about the coast. The chirping of seagulls, the roosting of the waves, the chattering of sailors, and the constant slashing of blade on straws.

“Practicing as always, I see.”

Evelyn pulled the sword from the wooden dummy, and sheathed it with one swift motion. She beamed at Helena’s approach. Glossy beads of sweat ambled off the girl’s sunbathed skin, seeping into the light chainmail she had on. 

“Yes. I cannot afford to be lazy, if I want to improve. I must admit, it has increased my appetite by quite a lot. Would it be alright if I ask for more rations?”

Helena smiled.

“I’m sure we can spare some. You’re a growing girl, and I think you’re even taller than I am, now.” 

The comment filled Evelyn with pride, as the two stood closer. From eye level alone, she knew it was true. Her shoulders have broadened as well, the muscles underneath starting to take a firm form.

“Are you done for the day, Helena?”

“Yes, but your mistress isn’t.”

Mere courtesy, for Evelyn’s intentions could not be more transparent. The girl’s expression faded from focused to foul, as she removed her steel gauntlets, hanging them by her side.

“Can I share something, Helena?”

The blond woman sighed, crossing her arms.

“You’re too easy to read, girl. You’re lonely. She’ll come back to you eventually. She always do.”

Evelyn blushed, changing the subject.

“I’m glad you’re here, Helena. It’s good to see a friendly face on foreign shores.”

“Same for me, truth be told.” The blonde moved to pick away a strand of sweaty hair stuck to the girl’s face. “But unlike me, you’ve changed a lot. Imagine my shock seeing you on that ship with a scabbard by your hip and armour on your torso.”

“I must confess, I could barely stand back then. It was essentially just a costume until Mistress hired Huck to train me. I’m very grateful for his help.”

“Yes, the ex-Blackguard. Is he not here today?”

“I believe he said he has a job, but he’ll come on the morrow.”

Helena placed a knowing hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you found a calling, Evelyn. Frankly, I’m surprised your mistress is on board with this.”

“She said as long as it doesn’t take away from my normal duties, I can do whatever I want. Although, since she’s been so busy lately, there’s not been much of those.”

The blonde rubbed her chin in amusement.

“If I were to be so bold as to pry, what exactly are your ‘normal duties’. What exactly do you do for the Witch?”

Evelyn shrank at the question, clasping her hands together nervously.

“It’s not too different from how I used to serve the noblewomen. I’d cook for her, do her laundry.” A pause. “At night I’d sleep on her lap while she watches.”

Helena narrowed her eyes.

“As an Oriathan native myself, I don’t think noblewomen did that last part with their maids.”

“I must admit it’s not exactly common. But Mistress is a peculiar woman, and I don’t deem her demands unreasonable. I owe her my life. Those duties are hardly stringent in comparison.”

“Is duty all it is?” Helena parted the bangs away from the girl’s flustered face. “I can see it in your eyes, Evelyn. I’m a woman too, you know.”

Evelyn didn’t have an immediate answer. Her knightly stature from before has coiled itself inwards, and she stood there only as a teenage girl with stars in her eyes and crimson on her cheeks.

“I’m not really sure what my feelings are, to be honest with you. I have gratitude, and admiration for her.”

“And love.” Helena interjected with a cutting word. “You have to be honest with yourself first, dear.”

Evelyn frowned.

“In truth, I am scared. It seems I’ve heard nothing but tales of lost love in my travels. There’s only one couple I’ve ever known who’s living a happy life together. Everyone else…” she lowered her gaze. “Even yours, Helena, if you’d forgive me.”

The blonde swallowed a knot in her throat she didn’t know was there.

“It’s hard for love in times like these, yes. However, even though Greust is no longer with me, I would rather mourn him forever more, than not have the memories of our time together.” She managed. “Unlike mine, your adoration yet lives. Do not languish in self-doubt, or you will lose the opportunity before you can miss it.”

Those words dangled in her head as Evelyn put the cauldron to the fire. She was given a small, wooden shack by the northeast of the beach where the tides would skirt and the crabs would watch, and busied cleaning and keeping things in order. A small bell hung atop the main entrance, which would play a small ring when the door opened.

Presently, it did.

Evelyn jolted towards the chime. There was the Witch, donning a dark overcoat that went all the way to her knees, azure energy converging across its joints into a core just below chest level, its collar wide and firm, partially hiding those faded lips. The blue energy hummed softly in the night, glowing with each breath.

“Welcome back, Mistress.”

As the girl stood opposite the Witch, it only occurred to her now that she was taller then. She mindfully slumped down little by little, until they were on eye level.

“Is the food ready?” asked the Witch.

“Yes, Mistress. I have also prepared fresh clothes for you.”

Evelyn closed the door, and moved to undress the woman. This was no uncommon activity, and she has seen the slim, pale body beneath many time. Yet, as she peeled the magical artefacts off piece by piece, she couldn’t help but look away, her movements momentarily jittery and awkward. The Witch didn’t comment, and soon they were both wearing simple grey robes with blue cloth belts across the hips, sitting across the only table in the abode. 

“We have black bread, and stew made with a creamy clam and crab meat. There are barley, turnips, and even some butter, if that is too your liking.” Evelyn served up the food she has prepare with haste and grace.

The Witch nodded wordlessly. They spent a few minutes eating in silence, until the woman spoke.

“That was better than usual.”

Evelyn couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

“I’m glad you liked it, Mistress,” she replied, struggling to compose herself. “I’ll strive to do even better.”

“How goes your training?”

“Huck says I’m progressing well, although I might be overworking myself.” Evelyn’s growing biceps flashed under the candlelight as she touched them. “I think I’m getting better too.”

“You’ve never told me why you suddenly wanted to become a warrior. Did someone comment on your normal duties?”

“No, nothing like that.” Evelyn shook her head. “Do you remember our conversation, back in Sarn? I want to be someone who can accompany you on your journeys.”

“Why?”

Such a short, cold question that threatened her resolve. However, like the blade hanging from the walls, she had also practiced her words.

“I want to spend more time with you, Mistress.”

A moment of consideration. 

“I kill gods and monsters with forbidden magic, girl, your puny sword will only slow me down.”

Evelyn could never hope to match the lethality of the woman’s words, but she resolved to persevere.

“I understand that, Mistress. However, Huck told me that he occasionally accompanies you on missions, same as the other rouges. One day, I want myself by your side on those occasions. I want the person who watches your back to be me.” She bit her lip.

“You don’t have to do that. I may have saved your life, but your job is here. I don’t require more of you.”

Evelyn dug her nails into her thighs.

“But I do, Mistress.” The momentary pain shot fire into her core and her tongue. “I want to be with you every waking moment. I want to be someone you can rely on. I want to be your knight.”

The ensuing silence dampened the rousing speech. She slumped back onto her seat, waiting for a reply. It came, after a moment.

“Who put these ideas in your head?” asked the Witch calmly.

“No one, Mistress.” Evelyn found herself choking up. “I just want to be with you.”

The tears were unbecoming, she knew, but knowing was only half the battle. Wisdom could not quench the yearn in her heart, and so she must weep.

The Witch’s expression was as unreadable as ever. Her fingers twitched, but no more.

“Come here, Evelyn,” she commanded.

The girl didn’t obey.

A very slow blink later, the Witch stood up from her seat. She remained still for a moment, as the whimper filled the room. Eventually, she took the girl’s hand, and led them both to bed. As a piece of furniture, it was shoddily built out of wood and scraps, same as the rest of the dredge on this beach, yet as their bodies settled on its edge, it didn’t creak, just this once.

“I’m sorry Mistress.” Evelyn sniffled, clumsily wiping her nose. “Are you mad?”

The question was left hanging.

“When it’s time. I shall arrange a test.” The Witch ran her cold, bony fingers over the girl’s calloused hands. “Pass it, and I’ll let you come with me.”

The words didn’t register at first, but it eventually sank in. Evelyn nodded hastily, wiping away her tears.

“Yes, Mistress. I shall not let you down.”

The Witch was not in a celebratory mood.

“Be warned. I doubt Huck himself would be able overcome this trial. You must be better.”

“Whatever you say, Mistress.” The girl’s smile curved uncertain. “But, if you would forgive another query: Huck comes with you on jobs occasionally. Why do you let him, if he was not up to your standards?”

“He understands that if he falls behind, I shall leave him behind.”

“But not me?” Evelyn asked.

“Not you,” the Witch affirmed, “anyone but you.”