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The only warning that comes is the ground rumbling below her feet. There isn’t enough time to react before the rumbling turns into an eruption and her home crumbles around her. The floor explodes upward, the ceiling collapses downward, and soon every stone that ever held Caed Nua together is laying in a spot flung far from it’s intended home. Beneath the wreckage, a flash of searing pain cuts through the Watcher’s fallen form and plunges her into a depth of darkness only those at the end of their lives witnessed. Luckily, some might say, she is unable to see the absolute destruction of her home on account of being very much dead.
Caed Nua is no more, and neither is her Watcher.
Where she is now looks nothing like the Wheel Adira used to imagine. It’s all more than a little disappointing if she’s honest with herself. Is this the culmination of an entire life? One minute you’re there, the next you’re gone, and this is all there is to show of it? How long will she stay here? How much longer will she be here before she’s someone else? Someone who won’t remember anything about the life she just lived.
She can’t even tell how much time has passed. Minutes? Days? Weeks? Time has no meaning here. There’s nowhere to go, nobody to talk to, nothing to do except float, if that’s even what she’s doing. It’s difficult to tell.
And when she thinks she can’t stand another second of this unknowing existence, there’s a change, and her soul is inexorably pulled into the ether. It’s the most excitement she’s had since she died, but even that ends anticlimactically as she soon finds herself sitting at a table, face to face with the Goddess of Death herself.
If a soul could sigh, Adira’s would have done so, heavily. She’s been here before, well, not here precisely, but she knows what this means. This is no simple return to the Wheel. The gods are about to ask her for help.
Casually, as one might catch an acquaintance up on the latest gossip, Berath explains what has transpired now that Eothas is no longer dead. With the explanation comes a proposal, one that must be answered soon. There’s a moment, a seemingly unending moment during which she seriously considers making an unthinkable choice. Only two options were open to her, the now-former Watcher of Caed Nua. Return to Eora and do the god’s bidding, again, or return to the Wheel.
By all rights, she should want to become the Hound of Eothas, to chase the Shining God down and make him answer for the destruction of her home and the countless deaths of kith in the area. All their souls whisked away before their time, now lost and scared, travelling within the form of an animated adra colossus. She should be eager to take up the mantle of the Herald of Berath, if only for the opportunity to claim the remains of her soul.
Instead, she finds herself weighed down with resentment over being made an errand girl for the gods a second time, and considers taking the easy out. Adira’s tired of her life choices being determined by someone else’s whims. The gods don’t deserve her help, not when they were so disastrously inept at keeping their own houses in order. Helping them means being leashed to them, to Berath in particular, an option that’s not remotely appealing. If her own god had come to ask her for this favour, she might have an easier time agreeing. Galawain is, in her opinion, an absolute asshole, but she understands what motivates him.
However, she’s across the table from Berath who’s impatiently waiting for an answer and Adira very nearly gives into temptation. It would be easy to tell the Pallid Knight to forget everything and send her back to the Wheel. She could say to her there were no more deals to be made, maybe even follow it up with the old Dyrwood salute. Edér would appreciate that as a fitting, final gesture.
But Edér wasn’t here.
With sudden clarity, she remembers that he wasn’t at Caed Nua when Eothas took possession of Od Nua’s statue and decided to run amok. His soul is almost certainly still intact, locked firmly away in his body somewhere back on the surface of Eora. The thought crosses her mind to ask where he is. What is he doing while she’s sitting here making deals for her life? Is he mourning her? Or is he out there trying to find a way to fix her?
She doesn’t ask any of these questions. She knows Berath doesn’t care. He doesn’t warrant the kind of attention a Watcher does. The things he does have an inconsequential value where this particular god is concerned. He means nothing more than a speck of dust on the wind.
And so she agrees. Agrees to chase down one god at the behest of another. Agrees to have her life tied to this task. Agrees to be at Berath’s beck and call should the situation demand.
Because he means everything to her, his value to this Watcher is beyond measure. And if it means being indebted to a group of immortal beings with the emotional maturity of newborn babies, then that’s the price she’s willing to pay to make sure he’s okay.
The pain, though nearly unbearable when first returned to her body, is all but forgotten when she sees him sitting vigil with her lion next to her bed. He chokes around the pipe in his mouth, the smoke clouding his vision momentarily. Then his arms cradle her gingerly as though he’s afraid she might crumble in his embrace and he can’t stand the thought of losing her again. She can’t quite make out the jumble of words that pour through his lips next to her ear, but she understands the sentiment behind them and holds him fiercely in return.
Most everyone has someone they’d be willing to die for. This is the opposite side of that coin. He’s the one she’s willing to live for.