#so anyway thatll be in the next scene lmao

—

When she woke, the city was burning.

What had begun as a frantic free-for-all in the great hall of the Ducal Palace had quickly blown up into a full-fledged riot that now spanned the breadth of Defiance Bay. At first, Axa hadn’t been able to tell if the sky had been darkened by smoke or by the passage of time, but when she finally managed to gather herself and make her way outside, she discovered that it was both. Buildings smoldered and filled the air with black, acrid clouds, mingling with the stench of spilled blood and the cries of kith. She couldn’t help but think of all the good she’d done in this city, the people she’d helped. Kaenra and Purnisc, Nonton and Ingroed. Niah, Dalton, Nedyn, Osric. Were they all dead now?

Had it all been for nothing?

“Thaos,” Axa croaked, the stench of smoke stinging her throat. “Where is he?”

“Ran off,” Edér spat ruefully. “Said he had ‘pressing business’ to attend to. Godsdamned coward.”

“Hey now, he probably just had the sudden urge to defecate,” Hiravias snarked. “You know how elders can be.” He grinned nervously at Axa, and as she turned to admonish him, she was stopped short by a sudden realization.

Elders– pressing business–

“Lady Webb,” she gasped, and although she was still badly disoriented, she took off running toward Brackenbury.

To get from First Fires to the south end of Brackenbury shouldn’t have taken long, but the ongoing mayhem in the city had transformed the path linking the two locales into a sort of gruesome obstacle course. More than once was Axa forced to dodge a flaming chunk of rubble or a terrified refugee, and when she happened across a mob affixing an animancer’s severed head to a pike, it took everything she had to suppress her urge to scream her Chanter’s lightning at the perpetrators, to draw her blades and dispense justice. She would have been more than justified in doing so, she knew, but the truth was that this riot was no longer a situation that any kith could hope to bring to heel, much less one little orlan and her handful of companions. It was a force of nature now, a wildfire that could only be stopped by allowing it to burn itself out. It would be futile to try to do anything now but to get to Hadret House, to find Lady Webb, and time was of the essence. So she kept running.

The sanitarium was ablaze. She’d figured it would be, but it dismayed her all the same to see it: the smoke pouring from the ruined roof, bodies dangling from the shattered windows, blood and viscera dribbling down the brick facade. She wondered briefly about the fates of the animancers working inside when the angry mob reached them, of Ethelmoer forced to watch helplessly as his life’s work was rent asunder and his colleagues were slaughtered in front of him, of the patients locked in the basement and awaiting salvation just like the Eothasian priests back in Gilded Vale– but it was all too much to take, and so she tried not to think about it as she dashed past the grisly sight. They were beyond saving now, unfortunate though it was, and there would be time to mourn later.

Hadret House was relatively unscathed by comparison, although it looked as though a bîaŵac had blown through the interior. Scattered papers blanketed the floors like fresh snowfall, books and scrolls sprawled from overturned tables, shattered ink pots ruined imported rugs. And not a soul remained inside. Except–

Axa relaxed as best she could, let her Watcher senses drift to the fore, and although she could perceive some vague impressions of essence left behind by the living all over the building, she couldn’t make out any intact souls hiding behind any curtains or bookshelves, no one tucked away under a heavy desk or inside a chest. But she could feel an insistent tug coming from above her, a familiar presence pulsing and burning in the In-Between like a lit beacon, and her heart sank as she realized exactly what it was– who it was.

“No one here?” Sagani peered around cautiously, muscles tensed, ready for anything. “Are we too late?”

“No, she’s still here,” Axa muttered, already staggering toward the stairs. “Up here. But…” She trailed off into silence as she ascended, all her previous urgency gone. There was no need to rush anymore.

After all, Eydis Webb was dead.

It hadn’t happened very long ago. Although the blood that had pooled in the cavity of her ribcage was already mostly dry, thick and sticky like the spilled liquor from her shattered glass on the floor beside the bed, Axa could still tell that the woman’s death had been relatively recent from the way her soul still clung close to her body, flaring up when the Watcher approached, almost as though the old Cipher had been waiting for her. While her companions looked on, silent with shock and sorrow, Axa closed her eyes, braced herself, reached out–

–It was all quiet now. In here, anyway. Outside, the madness of the riot raged and squalled, but in here, in her home at Hadret House, it was calm and quiet and empty, the perfect mood for enjoying a little fine, well-aged brandy. She hoped Axa would forgive her for starting without her.

She’d sent her people away at the start of it all, to see to the safety of their homes and families. A few stubborn types had tried to insist on staying, to defend her– as though she needed their assistance– but they were easy enough to “convince” otherwise, and it was child’s play for an accomplished Cipher like herself to cast a little glamor over her base of operations, make its presence simply slide off of the minds of those who might wish her harm. She hadn’t gotten this far, grown this old, by being some wilting waif who couldn’t take care of herself.

Although, she supposed, that hardly mattered now.

She recognized him long before she saw him. Recognized his scent, the cadence of his footsteps, all those familiar pathways he’d worn into her brain lighting up once more, like a river once again flowing through an ancient valley after a long, long drought. Impossibly, he looked exactly the same as he always had. It was strangely comforting.

“There you are,” she murmured. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“Forgive me for tarrying so long,” he replied gently. He was being sincere, at least insofar as she could tell. Typical.

She sighed and turned toward the window, the warm glow of the fires in the streets below illuminating her wizened face. “I was a fool to think I could rein these people in. To tame them with my ever-so-subtle ministrations. Wasn’t I?”

“No need to be so harsh with yourself,” he assured her. “Practice is never as easy as theory. And you came closer than most, anyway.”

“Hnh. A fine epitaph,” she muttered, swirling her brandy in her glass. She took another sip, let it lay bitter on her tongue.

He gave her the very slightest hint of a smile. “No worse than most, my dear.”

She closed her eyes, relishing the moment– fine brandy, warm bed, a genuine compliment from the only man she’d ever truly loved. A fine epitaph indeed.

And suddenly, so suddenly she took herself by surprise, she hurled her mind against his, over and over and over, attacking with every last mote of energy in her body. Veins in her temple throbbed, her heart pounded against her frail ribs, and still he resisted effortlessly, just as he always had. Even here, at the end of all things, even after her unnaturally long lifetime spent working and preparing and honing her craft, even now she couldn't–

But she could. And for an instant, she did. One brick from one wall in the vast, impenetrable fortress of his mind was finally wiggled loose, and she desperately grasped at the fraction of a thought that escaped.

“Twin Elms,"  she gasped, dizzy from exertion and the thrill of victory. ”…What’s in Twin Elms?“

"Pulled that from my mind, did you?” He cocked an eyebrow at her, corner of his mouth twitching. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

“Well.” She settled back against her pillows again, controlling her breathing even as exhaustion caught up with her. “I’ve had plenty of time to practice.”

He crossed the room to her credenza, examining her selection of spirits. “I can tell you have."  At last his gaze fell on the brandy, and he smiled almost wistfully as he lifted it to his nose, his free hand reaching for a glass.

She wanted to scowl at his presumptuousness, but found she couldn’t quite suppress a bemused grin instead, like a mother might have for a particularly bold child. "I was saving that for someone, actually.”

To his credit, he immediately drew back. “Were you? Pardon me."  He reluctantly set the bottle back down, shaking his head. "Pity. It’s a fine vintage. I doubt she could truly appreciate it the way we’re able to.”

“Don’t underestimate her.” It was not meant as a caution, but as a threat.

“I have no intention of doing so."  Her feather mattress sagged beneath his weight as he sat himself down on the edge of her bed, turning slightly to face her. His eyes looked to be full to the brim with sorrow, but she could see beneath the facade, down to the cold, hard truth inside him. "Eydis. You always knew that this is how it was going to be. How it has to be.”

The knife was in his hand. It was already smeared with the blood of her countrymen.

“Is that so?” She tilted her head up at him, narrowing her eyes defiantly. “Prove it, then.”

She didn’t even really feel the knife slip in. It was more of a focused pressure against her midsection, only slightly more insistent than his hand pressing gently against her breastbone, pinning her to the pillows. The sensation brought to her mind the image of a paper lantern, old and stiff and delicate, with a paring knife driven between two of its wire ribs.

Taking that analogy to its logical conclusion, she supposed it could only be her light that was leaking out of her now, her fire, her warmth. How fitting.

The glass of brandy, still half full, rolled from her insensate fingers, tumbled to the floor below, and she could very dimly hear it shatter as her lifeforce began to ebb. She reached out to him desperately, clasping his knife hand in between her own, and gathering the very last of her quickly fading energy, she dove into his mind one last time. One last question that was too big to be just a question, it was a part of her, a state of being, and this would be her very last chance–

And he let her. For once, he left his mind utterly unguarded, and she penetrated his thoughts and memories as easily as his dagger had penetrated her flesh. And there before her, waiting patiently for her to find, was the answer to the only question that had ever truly mattered to her. And it changed everything.

“I knew it,” she whispered, and she looked one last time into Thaos ix Arkannon’s eyes as death finally claimed her.

Axa snapped back to her senses, her face wet with tears, Thaos’ merciless gaze burned into her mind. Webb’s soul was gone, spirited away on the winds of the In-Between, and Axa stood before all that now remained of Defiance Bay’s most powerful Cipher. She turned to her companions.

“He’s gone. To Twin Elms,” she rasped, drawing the back of her hand across her face.

“The Holy Cradle,” Hiravias murmured reverently. “The City of the Builders. Oh, that can’t be good.”

“Then we follow,” Pallegina asserted. “Before we lose him again.”

“He’ll have a damned hard time gettin’ there, I’d wager,” Edér muttered. “Wet season’s still on. Stormwall Gorge damn near down to Elmshore’ll be flooded for another month at least.”

Aloth’s eyes darted around nervously. “There’s no other way into Eir Glanfath? None at all?”

“Not unless we all suddenly and serendipitously sprout wings, no,” Hiravias replied. “And before you ask: yes, I can turn into a few different birds, but no, none big enough to carry kith.”

“What are we to do, then?” Kana cried. “We can’t simply allow him to get away with–”

He was interrupted by a loud crash from downstairs, the tinkling of broken glass followed closely by shouting from the street. It seemed that now that Webb was no longer around to maintain her protective illusion over Hadret House, the rioters and looters had taken notice.

“What we need to do,” Sagani barked, “is get the Hel out of this city. I, for one, think it’d be wisest to retreat to Caed Nua for now. We can figure out the rest later. Right, Watcher?” The little huntress laid a comforting hand on the other woman’s shoulder, but Axa only turned, dazed, and trudged slowly away from her friends toward the back of the room.

The bottle of brandy still stood on the credenza.

“Eydis. You're– I hope to include you among my friends, too, someday. When this is all over.”

In one quick motion, Axa plucked the brandy from the polished wooden counter and tucked it into her satchel. He won’t get away with this, Eydis. My friend. I’ll stop him, I swear it. And then… I’ll toast to you over his corpse. She turned back to her companions, fists trembling at her sides.

“There’s nothing else we can do here,” she murmured. “Let’s go home.”

—