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Something was going on in the temple.
That was nothing new. Milk had gotten used to it by now.
The crawlers really knew how to cause a scene, sometimes. Sometimes, rarely, they would bang against the secret door to her chamber, and she would perk up, the dusty papers shifting on the table as she gently pushed against it, preparing to stand.
She never had to, though.
Eventually, they would all go away. She’d already had her excitement for this season, anyway. Miriam Dom and that caprid had visited only a couple of floors earlier, nearly burning down her guild in the process. That had been nice. Milk cherished that memory. She remembered that small spark of life that had ignited within her, if just for a moment.
She’d liked that pair. She hoped they would face a kinder end than she had.
The banging continued. It sounded like the entire temple was awake, rushing through the winding hallways. The shouting was muffled through the walls, but Milk could tell the guards were after a group of crawlers – and possibly some other entities as well. What was going on out there?
A familiar roar filled the hallway just outside the Calligrapher’s Guild. Milk’s heart skipped a beat. No. No way.
This time, she truly stood up, the pen she’d been idly holding clattering against the desk. That had sounded exactly like Bianca, that monstrous hellspawn familiar of the crawler Miriam. Milk felt an odd surge through her chest as she stepped towards the hidden doorway.
They were coming back?
They wouldn’t… right?
Milk could still feel Miriam’s gentle hands on her, soothing the burn on her arm. She thought about her soft eyes and her sad, sharp-toothed smile.
They were coming closer. Milk backed up a little, preparing to jump to the side if that creature once again tried to incinerate her and her guild the first thing after coming in. Her hands shook, and she curled them against her body.
Briefly, she worried what this strong physical reaction of hers could mean, before realizing she was excited. Excited. Her. After all these… after all this time.
It hurt, that realization. The implications of it. It hurt so good.
The door opened.
Milk could only watch as the group of crawlers of all shapes and sizes burst in, that bloody hellspawn in the lead. The caprid, Prepotente, was right behind it, and Milk nearly had to brace herself against the wall after seeing him.
It truly was them.
“Again?” she asked. “Again?”
They came back. They really came back for her.
Miriam was not with them, she realized. The hellspawn belonged to Prepotente now. Milk felt a bang in her chest, brief but devastating. She was gone. Dead, most likely.
She looked over the ragtag group of injured, bloody, shell-shocked crawlers, really taking the scene in. All of them were still so, so young. Their hardened shells cracked down to their cores.
She thought about the gentle heart of Miriam.
Perhaps, she thought, her fate was for the best.
One of them was staring at her, she noticed. The rest were busy recovering, talking loudly amongst themselves, but that one crawler was standing shock still, his hand against the wall, stiff legs unsteady under him.
His patterned shorts were already cleaning themselves, drying blood flaking off them in chunks. They were magical, it seemed. It took a second for Milk to notice he was barefoot – so covered in blood he was. His hair and face as well. His eyes were wide under all the grime, and his whole body trembled, and he stared at Milk like he’d seen a ghost. Or an angel.
He looked human, Milk noted. But his race was primal. Carl was his name. Warlord Carl.
“Milk?” he whispered.
Something inside her shattered in that moment. Something that had been building up for years, for decades, perhaps even longer. She didn’t know. The truth was, time had already lost its meaning for her. Everything had.
There was another, Milk thought. She felt nearly drunk with the sudden surge of emotions. There was another. Still, after all this time. There were more. New ones. And this one was a warlord. The first one ever to reach that status, perhaps.
It hadn’t been for nothing.
Her brother swayed, and Milk could see one of his friends, a warrior of a woman, glance in his direction, keeping an eye on him.
“Carl, are you okay?” the woman asked.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t move at all.
“Milk”, he whispered again. He’d recognized her. He sounded sure of it now, although he’d only known her through her words, written down in that book so long ago. Despite it all, he knew.
Carl, Milk thought. Carl – an anarchist, a warlord, a primal. An author. Her little brother.
“Child, come here”, she said, and Carl stumbled forward. She met him halfway and wrapped him within her wings. Her entire body throbbed, as if she were being torn apart from the inside out. She hurt for this planet, this group of people once again condemned to the same godawful fate, suffering in such a profound way for no reason at all. She hurt for her youngest brother and his friends, who’d made it this far – not because they were still alive, but because the cost of living through it all was so great. She burst with pride, as well. With love, with grief, and with hope.
“It’s not over yet”, Carl said. His voice wobbled with sobs. “Not even close.”
Milk stroked his hair, which was quickly cleaning itself from the matted blood. Still, it remained glued to his jacket and arms in several places. She could tell he’d just been through hell.
And the true horrors hadn’t even started.
“I know”, she told him quietly. “Don’t you worry. It’s okay.”
His stacked debuffs were clearing one by one, much faster than would be possible without some kind of enchanted item. Finally, his stiff legs relaxed, and he slumped abruptly against Milk’s body. He was heavy, but she barely wavered. She would not stumble, not right now.
Carl’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and Milk held him. Tears mixed with blood stained the shoulder of her shirt.
“Let it out”, Milk whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
And it was, she realized. She still had family out there, still alive, still fighting. The fact that Carl had found her was clear proof of that.
Like he’d said, it was not over yet.
Milk was no longer asleep.
No, she was wide awake. She was alive. And she would not stop until they all burned.