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As everything ended, Kiera took Daenora by the hand and led her to flight. There had to be a way out of this. A way that they, and their children, could find safety.
As everything in the world seemed to splinter and fragment, deaths counted by the thousands and Houses losing their grip on their lands, they ran. It was terrifying. It was also the freest Kiera had ever felt. No longer could expectations tie her down, for those expectations had vanished in the face of these corpses turned killers.
Coalitions began to form, slowly but surely. Kiera and Daenora fell in with a group of septas who, it transpired, had fled together from the ruins of their motherhouse. Most of them still wore what was recognisably septa attire, if battered and adjusted for practicality. A couple had abandoned them altogether. One still wore the full thing, in remarkably good shape, though visibly repaired. Kiera caught sight of her purple eyes and didn’t ask why. Her name was Maris, and she prayed every hour. One of the other septas, Ravella, seemed practically attached to her side, always watching with concern.
Kiera had been a little worried about how the septas would respond to the affection she and Daenora held for each other, but none of them had said anything. Perhaps they were too preoccupied with survival too care. Certainly, many standards seemed to be slipping. It was a strange time, that was for certain, but she believed they could make it through.