#kilia

“I only asked for the facts, not your own feelings on the matter.” She turned away, the golden blades of her armor just a hair-breadth away from slicing the angel’s side. Not that the angel would take such an action so passively, for they all had their self-defensive measures ingrained into them. Besides, it was a waste to get rid of such help, even if they got on her nerves. “I was told before that there have been unexpected detours.”

“As Kratos’ group now consists of a number of five instead of the original three, it is expected that the accuracy of traveling the designated pathway to the tower would decrease down to 67%.” The angel finally turned to her, unblinking. “Master Kratos is still operating at a positive efficiency.”

Always aggravating whenever she mentioned the man’s name. The angels, despite being as empty as discarded shells, never failed to leap at the chance to defend Kratos. What hold did he have over them that she didn’t?

It didn’t matter. She gestured them away. “Then continue observing them. And report any unusual activities to me.”

For most, it would be difficult to tell if the angels were even truly listening. Sometimes they would reveal it with a small turn of their heads, and maybe even a blink if one was lucky. But she had trained these angels to be more vocal about their objectives, about their commitment to Yggdrasill – and by proxy, their commitment to her.

Unless of course, one dared to mention a failing on their precious Kratos.

“Understood, Lady Pronyma,” spoke one angel, the same man with the half-covered face. And with those words, they all left in unison. A beating of wings, black and white, but doing so just to avoid the blades surrounding her. They all kept a wide berth, as if to avoid a snarling animal.

It had taken her time as well to teach them proper respect.

Just as the doors to her chambers snapped shut, she noticed a flickering light at her machine – a communication call trying to get through. The symbols over the screen identified who was trying to reach her.

Good, she thought with a smile. Maybe she can now be useful.

--

The Asgard Human Ranch was at the very top of Sylvarant’s continent, situated against steep mountains and cliffs, only a few miles from the shoreline. It was tucked far away into the wilderness so that no passerby would come upon it by chance, not unless one were directly looking for it. The only town that was in any distance to it, Luin, was still quite some miles away, enough to give such people there a false sense of security.

Of course, it was a dreary place, as all the ranches were. But between the soulless angels in Welgaia and the prisoners who acted little more than husks, she could not say for certain which company was livelier to begin with.

The Desians themselves were only mildly better, though most had near heart-attacks at her sudden arrival within the ranch at one of the control rooms, one of them even going so far as to trip over the wiring of a vending machine he had been perusing at just a minute ago. A quick reach for the blade at his back, and Pronyma would have had no qualms ending his life then and there, half-elf or not.

“My my, you usually give us a little warning before your annual inspections.”

The Desian’s face was hidden by his helmet, but she could imagine his look of surprise as his superior walked through the room, looking unperturbed as always. Kvar certainly had that type of face, and that sickly stretch of a smile. The soldier saw that as his cue to leave, making a hasty bow that nearly upended himself again before he dashed out of the room.

For such help, Pronyma would certainly rely on the angels much more.

“Is this your way of saying your behind schedule?” she countered. “It would be a shame, all things considered.”

A small robot whirred just above her, just one of the maintenance types to check on the machinery, their insides humming with electricity. But of course, Kvar’s own personal ones tended to look quite similar…

“So, she contacted you, didn’t she?” He tilted his head to the side, slightly. “And I told her that she needed her rest first.”

“By rest, I assume that she’s not strapped to a table and going through another experimentation then.” Pronyma voiced the scenario with little concern, for she knew the man to get so caught up in his research. It was never a guarantee that anyone would be left alive after this ordeal.

I told her this anyway, Pronyma thought to herself with unexpected irritation.

“You wound me for thinking so. I have only done what she asked. Nothing more.” At that, he nodded his head to her, for he was never the type to bow. “That said, it is always such a pleasure to have you visit my humble abode,” Kvar said with the tightest smile she had ever seen. It wasn’t unusual from the norm, but she could see the tension in his cheeks, the brief twitch in his narrowed eyes. “…Pronyma.”

Oh, what a vicious weasel of a man Kvar was. A jealous man. Every glance at her was filled with an obvious, seething hate.

Years ago, such an expression might have saddened her. But she had been younger, more naïve back then. She shrugged.

“So, is she ready or not?”

He smiled, thin-lipped, tight.

The remaining Desians in the room went about their tasks, even though they did so with nervous glances towards her, some in awe at her figure, while others with more trepidation. Kvar motioned for several to attend to him; consisting of one mage, two lowly swordsmen, and a spearwoman. They all stood as stiff as the metal machinery surrounding them.

“I’d give you the grand tour, but I’m sure you know the ins and outs fairly well.” Leading them through the doors, Kvar’s tone traveled so easily to her. The hallways were repetitious and dull, with only the distant image of the prisoners passing through conveyor belts to give any semblance of movement in the ranch. Desians formed a ring around them as they walked, unsure how close they should be. They seemed to be aware that just the golden blades that hovered around her was more than enough protection.

“You can rest assured I will mourn the loss of seeing more of your lovely décor.”

“Oh, I would think it would be suitable to your liking. Still, I must make what is due at my station. My resources aren’t quite so limitless as others.”

A nervous shifting of weapons. The Desian mage cleared his throat. Pronyma did all she could to not roll her eyes.

Sometimes Kvar’s resentment towards her was quite embarrassing.

They moved further into the ranch, down the twisting hallways into stairwells, and she slowly grew annoyed that Kvar was purposely avoiding any teleportation pads to make the trip any easier. But down into the deeper recesses, where lamps powered by magitechnology were so dim, that even the soldiers attending them seemed to shift even more nervously than before.

“Have there been any complications?” she deigned to ask. His silent treatment of her now was more irritating than his snide comments.

The bottom of his staff hit the floor at intervals as they walked, the ringing sound of metal matching with the tempo of her heartbeat. “Very minor. The experiment has proven to be a success.”

“Ah.” She smirked. “Something quite rare indeed.”

Kvar made no motion, no comment. But she saw the ever-so-subtle tightening of his fingers against his staff. What a touchy man.

It wasn’t long after that they had arrived at the cell, so tucked into the corner of the hallway, one might have missed it. They had only passed a few other cells, some holding nameless storage (certainly a mess in disorganization she could reprimand in later reports), others holding prisoners that were stuck in solitary confinement. Perhaps they had tried to break out of the ranch, or merely insulted on Kvar’s choice of footwear one day. It didn’t truly matter.

At a glance from Kvar, the female Desian quickly sauntered up to the cell, inputting a code to let the bars shift to the right. The grating sound was enough to hurt her ears, just slightly. She understood the point being made, and at least she would forward a few more extra Gald to Kvar for the ranch’s upkeep, despite his constant sulking.

Kvar made a sweeping gesture with his staff towards the cell. His black eyes, barely seen, seemed to absorb whatever little light was present. “After you.”

Pronyma barely waited for him, walking into the cell, her face as impassive as she could make it.

“Servant,” she called out, half-demand, half-concern.

The room held nothing but a cot though no one lied in it. A body was fallen against the floor, hands outstretched, face turned away. There was the sound of breathing, heavy and laborious. Perhaps another soul would have thought that she was surely dying.

Pronyma moved to stand before her, gazing down at her servant’s new form. “I would hear about your transformation from your own words.”

The half-elven woman, or what she used to be, moved to face her. Elongated arms that shaped itself around the bone so tightly, and hands that were as gargantuan as the head of Proyma’s mace, moved along with her, though awkwardly. Sharp blades, also bone-like in its structure, sprouted from her forearms. Her ribs could be seen so plainly through her skin, as if they had made their home from outside her body. Her skin itself was so mutated that it had turned to a deep shade of purple, looking so poisonous to the touch.

But as the creature turned her head, there was the most ecstatic smile on her, points of sharp teeth flickering in the weak light of the cell. “Pronyma!”

Pronyma frowned at the casual address. “Lady Pronyma,” she corrected.

Just a small mar in that hideous smile, a widening of the eyes, but the other nodded. “Yes, my apologies, Lady Pronyma.”

“On your feet,” she ordered. “Or has the transformation been too much for you?”

The woman, or what was left of her, shook her head. “No, no! Of course not. This is no hindrance to me at all!” She clambered up to finally stand, the claws of what used to be her feet scratching against the floor. Like a twisted animal’s. She could only imagine how much all of this pleased Kvar. The man did enjoy the grotesque more than anything.

But it was also fascinating, the way the woman now slouched, her arms nearly reaching the floor. Curled horns twisted out from both sides of her head. Another look, and Pronyma could almost see a resemblance in the other, as if she had turned into one of the demons from Niflheim.

Of course Kvar would do just a thing, knowing her history.

“Pleased with her new body, are you not?” spoke Kvar from behind. His voice was a hiss through the air, slithering around her within the small confines of the cell. “I must say, I’ve outdone myself. Mimicking the biological structure of beings not of this world can prove to be a challenge for most men.”

His so-called creation appeared to be just barely listening. She was still breathing hard, but directed her gaze to her hands with satisfaction, her grin nearly engulfing her face. “I do feel… so much stronger than before. See, Lady Pronyma? I won’t hold you back anymore!”

And perhaps such excitement was getting too much for the woman, for then her back shuddered, like it was a living thing all on its own. A furious cracking of bones, the pulsing of flesh, and then something akin to several spines rushed out from the creature’s body, curling around her like claws.

Pronyma didn’t move, even as the motion of it all sent something bitter to the back of her throat.

The demonic half-elf laughed, manic once more, her slitted eyes gleaming yellow. “It’s amazing! I’ve never felt such a rush of power before! I could crush any human like this! I could fight an army of them! Isn’t this wonderful, Lady Pronyma? Isn’t it?!”

Her voice distorted itself. Another spine rushed out of her body, lengthening and moving along the floor like a tail. Each motion sent a clacking sound, of flesh rending itself apart.

The Desians that had followed them into the cell took a step back, the mage holding up his staff, the woman hefting her spear. “She’s… she’s a monster!” she yelled, then tried to cover her mouth, albeit much too late.

And such a monster turned towards the Desian, her grin so ecstatic. Her skeletal tail reached out to slam the spearwoman against the wall, so hard that the helmet made a loud clang! against the material.

Pronyma felt the rush of the attack, just a breadth away from making contact with her own body.

“L-Lord Kvar! Please advise what-” But the mage Desian could hardly finish his plea as the monstrous half-elf rushed towards him, her hand gripping his neck before slamming him to the floor. His staff rushed out of his hand to slide right out of the cell and hitting the far wall.

Another reached for his whip, but before he could unfurl it, a ball of dark mana was shot at his chest from violet hands, knocking the wind out of him. He clutched his chest, falling to his knees, all as he tried to scrabble away from the fiend before finally collapsing.

The only Desian soldier left now held out his sword, but he was shaking. The monster half-elf turned her eyes towards him, hungry and eager. “Not even just humans… No one can face me now! No one can hurt me anymore!”

Kvar, meanwhile, did nothing. He simply stood with his staff at his side, smiling at his newest creation. He looked so proud.

The monster with her grisly growths of bones at her back, lurched for the lowly Desian, who shrieked and held up his arms. The sword fell from his hands to clatter to the floor.

“Enough!”

As if pulled on a leash, the half-elf stuttered in her motion. She blinked, facing the woman who had called out to her.

Another grin. It was barely any different from the same one she had given the soldier. She stepped forward, one giant hand reaching towards the one she so admired.

“Lady Pronyma! I can be strong for you now! I can be-!”

Golden blades fanned out, framing Pronyma like metal wings. She held out her mace, pointing it at the monster half-elf by just a few inches away. Dark magic coated her fingertips, burning in its intensity.

The other froze, her smile frozen on her face.

“Control yourself!” Pronyma spat out. “You’re useless to me if you go on a rampage!”

Such words were enough. She saw the fire dim from those fierce eyes, the fervor gone, the light fading. The creature curled her fingers, making crackling noises as she did so.

“But…Pronyma…”

The Grand Cardinal turned her furious glare to Kvar, who continued to do nothing but watch the proceedings with amusement. “Kvar! You were only to magnify her capabilities. Instead you’ve affected her mental faculties until she is nothing but a roving monster.”

The man shook his head. “I’ve done no such thing. The girl is simply overstimulated by her newfound power. It will take her some time to get acclimated to it. All she needs is a nurturing hand.”

You always leave me to clean up your messes. Though this was no surprise to her.

The monster made a sound, like the moan of a wounded animal. She clutched at her head with her grotesque hands, her spines flickering around her, reminding Pronyma of a dying spider’s legs.

“I…apologize… Pronyma! I just wanted to be strong for you, I wanted to be strong I wanted to be…” She raised her head, panic so plain on her features. “I wanted to be useful!”

Still, she held out her mace. She stared down at the half-elf – for that was what she was, despite her new form. She could still imagine that same woman, crying on her knees, clutching at Pronyma’s hand.

She wouldn’t let her guard be swayed however. “Then show me that you are able. What use is someone who lashes out at whatever strikes their fancy? If my missions for you are ruined by your temperament, then there would be no point.”

Her servant lowered her head, but the sound in her throat had stopped. “I…I understand…”

“Then, prove it to me. Those-” She gestured with her mace towards the growths of bone at her servant’s back. “-can be useful for battle, but they are unseemly. They will simply get in your way for much else. You should be able to revert them as you please.”

The other looked behind her at those curved spines, as if she had just now realized their existence. “I…But will I…”

“Focus,” Pronyma ordered.

Behind her, she could hear a chuckle from Kvar. It annoyed her that she had to play into his hand, but she would not lose a viable minion for his whims.

The transformed half-elf bent forward, shutting her eyes tight. Slowly, those same growths shifted back inside her, tearing the flesh as they did so. The sound was nauseating. The sole Desian soldier left standing took several more steps back, then rushed out the cell door to wretch in a corner.

Eventually, the spines and tail of bone vanished within the body. She was still monstrous, still grotesque, but she stood, the manic fervor now dimmed.

Kvar saw this as an appropriate time to clap. “Such amazing work as always, Pronyma.”

Pronyma’s golden blades reverted to their original position, surrounding her in a shield. She turned. “Don’t you have other duties to attend to? The shortage of Exspheres from your ranch has been noted from your reports. I suggest you remedy that now.”

While the man could hold himself together, she saw another inkling of his rage. A twist of his eyebrow, his tight-lipped smile changing, parting his lips to reveal the shape of fangs beneath. She had never questioned why he had went through such experimentations on himself. She didn’t want to know at all.

If a man such as himself had taken her role, if Mithos had not seen her potential… No, there was no purpose in dwelling on such things.

“Do as you will,” he said. “But if the girl attacks any more of my personnel, I’ll need a little compensation for the damage inflicted.” He did not wait, turning away quickly until all she could recall was that barely-open smile. She felt an absence in the air, the thrumming of his electrical staff having left with him. The other fallen Desians stayed unconscious, though at the very least, alive.

Pronyma turned back, only to find her servant now on her knees, hands clasped.

“What does this mean?” she asked bluntly.

“I… I am sorry, Lady Pronyma. When Kvar said he would help me…” She raised her head, her face more like the half-elf that she truly was. “I wanted to prove myself useful to Cruxis! To you! I know I can now with this new form, and… and I will learn to control this, I promise you.”

Pronyma latched her mace back on her hip, then crossed her arms. She felt no more bloodlust from the other, thus feeling no danger. “Your magic has always been capable – your shapeshifting in particular.” Her eyebrows furrowed together in thought. “So it surprises me that you would still undergo these experiments. Why would you want your original state altered so?”

“…It just… didn’t feel enough.” The half-elf unclasped her hands, looked down at herself – and there was the satisfied grin once again, though no longer as intense. “Now this way, no one can hurt me anymore. No human can use me.”

Pronyma was silent, balancing those words in her head. Such words also felt so familiar.

“If that’s so, I have a task for you,” she stated. “You will still need your shapeshifting technique. But with your current form, your magic should be even more amplified.” Eyes scanned the monstrous form before her once more. Amazing that she couldn’t even see where the Exspheres had been placed within her, if there was even more than one. But Kvar always had his secrets. Though, not as many as he’d like to think he does.

The half-elf climbed back up to her feet. “Of course! I will do all that I can. My debt to you… it can’t-”

“Enough,” Pronyma halted with a raising of her hand. “So, you’ve still not left the past behind you.”

Maybe just then, she saw the conflict within the other’s eyes, nearly as shrewd and as vicious as what was probably in Kvar’s own heart. But tempered with newly-learned control. “How can I forget the day you saved me, Lady Pronyma?”

A stare, the memory slowly upturning, like a file she had left discarded on her desk. “Do not let such feelings shackle you.”

And through that visage of the creature her minion had become, she saw again that young half-elven woman, bruised from her hands at the humans that she had been forced to serve.

Before she had been granted the title of Leader of the Grand Cardinals, it had been an impromptu mission. An investigation over Exsphere storage that a human village had kept to themselves resulted in battle, as well as the discovery of half-elves that the humans practically used as slaves.

No, her servant never went into detail of such a time, but when Pronyma felt the mana burn within the half-elf before her back then, perhaps it had made her…sympathetic.

But at least her sympathies wouldn’t be wasted.

She turned around, gesturing for her servant to follow. “We have preparations. I’ve already shared with you of Palmacosta’s current state, but I will need you to prove your worth. You will also need to take on a new name.” She paused. "It will be Kilia. You must learn to respond to it naturally.

"Yes, yes of course! That...is no trouble at all to me." And, like a lost soul, 'Kilia' followed after her. A hand reached out, but it was to grasp Pronyma’s own.

She stiffened, but didn’t let go. Poisonous skin, bones jutting through it, but it wasn’t completely unpleasant.

“I will serve you until the end, Lady Pronyma!” she proclaimed, this time with a smile that was not all horrific fangs and snarls.

Pronyma let a few seconds pass before she pulled her hand away. “I will see to it that you do,” she said, leading them both out of the ranch.

--

Within her chambers that was buried beneath the Tower of Salvation, she heard the request of the angels just before her door. A flash of irritation, already busy enough as she was with the perusal of her latest reports, of Rodyle’s current location, of Kvar’s little research that he had thought was so cleverly hidden away…

“What is it?” she called out, and such a proclamation invited the angel inside. The same one with the cowl, with the glaive he held in his right hand.

“Lady Pronyma. I was to inform you of your informant’s current whereabouts.”

Pronyma stilled, though she kept herself turned away. “And?”

“Our connection to her communication device has been shut offline. We assume that she is no longer present. Last message indicated that the Chosen’s group had arrived in Palmacosta.”

Pronyma listened, then resumed her task, switching out the holographic maps from Sylvarant to Tethe’alla. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

The angel exited as quietly as he entered. Pronyma mapped out the coordinates once again, narrowing her eyes. Another mess to clean up.

Well, she kept her word, she thought to herself, for just a moment. Then brushed that aside along with the rest of the worthless past.

--

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“Get moving,” they had told her.

To this day, she couldn’t remember the name of the army she had been drafted in, or the name of the general that had grabbed her by the ear. So rough that she thought he would rip it straight from her head. She wasn’t allowed to stumble or let out a scream. These were things that could have scarred her flesh, or worse. These were things that weren’t allowed for a half-elf like her.

“You’re to go to the frontlines,” said the voice, morphed and distorted through the centuries. But the dread in her stomach was unforgettable, settling within her like stone, poisoning her limbs until she could barely move, until they had to push her along like some broken automaton.

“But, wait… I’m a caster,” she had said, and her voice had been so weak back then, painful in its memory. The voice of a sixteen-year old girl, foolish and cowardly, dressed in threadbare rags, for nothing of worth could be wasted on her. “I’m not… I’m supposed to-”

“You do not disobey.” A furious twisting of her ears, and maybe it was back then she had first felt rage. But she had been weak, frightened, with no one to retreat to. “You are only to listen.”

Pronyma had listened her whole life. It only led her to despair, again and again.

Whoever they fought, it barely mattered, simply more humans to pit herself against. The other half-elves at her side had the same fears on their faces, the same wounds on their arms. One man was clutching a sword and shield, but had no armor to protect himself otherwise, another was a spellcaster like herself, but even younger, his long hair barely able to hide his pointed ears.

There were soldiers in front of her, decked in heavy armor, wielding wicked pikes that she had seen run through other half-elves with ease. She raised her hands, letting dark rain drops fall over the armies in front of her, slowing them down, weakening them as much as she could.

But they were so close, this nameless army for a nameless country. Her superior shouted from behind, hands pushed her forward, and she had believed so strongly that she would die right here, living for nothing at all.

And then she woke, never knowing that she had fallen in the first place. She gasped for air, looking down at herself. No wounds. No blood.

There were bodies around her, heated by the summer sun, across the deserted plains in the middle of nowhere. But in front of her was a child, a child on the battlefield. From her spot, she could only guess him to be a year or two younger than her at most. The sunlight around him was so bright that she had to shade her eyes to even see him clearly.

The corpses near her were singed – but only those of the humans. A few half-elves still stumbled about, blinking confused eyes at the sun. The man who held the sword and shield remained standing, holding out his weapon, as if afraid to break the silence.

But the half-elf in front of her – for she knew instinctively that he was one – wasn’t recognizable to her. The white of his tunic caught her eye, along with the shine of his blonde hair. She stumbled forward, with questions on her lips to how he had gotten here.

“Are you injured?” the boy asked, all before he even turned to her. Somehow, it was only then that she noticed. The light that she had thought came from the sun was from him instead – it took its form in the shape of wings that trailed from the boy’s collar, drawing the curiosity to touch.

She made sure she didn’t. Her own magic still burned at her fingertips, which she clasped to her chest. “I… I don’t think so.” Her hair was matted with dirt, her knees still weak from the hours of standing at attention she had been forced to endure. She had always been so physically weak, with only her magical aptitude allowing her to live even this long. “Who are you? You don’t seem to be from the same…”

The boy faced her fully with a smile, but one that didn’t reach his eyes. Though she saw other half-elves gather around, wondering at their rescue, she was still closest to him. He held something in his stance, something about it so restrictive, as if he existed in another plane of existence altogether.

The wings seemed to stir something in her, their colors so freeing compared to the drab and dullness of her cell that she had been forced to live in for years.

“Yggdrasill,” he told her in an even tone. “You are no longer prisoners. You are free to do as you wish.”

The name unlocked an old knowledge. “Ygg… Mithos Yggdrasill, the hero?” she whispered softly.

Only then did she see the faintest of frowns on his face. “So, you know your history.” He seemed to consider her, his wings still so bright that it hurt her eyes. “Can I ask for your name then?”

From that day, she had given him more than that. It was because he had given her even more in return.

How could one repay a debt such as this in just one lifetime?

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-

Someone like her could not afford to fail.

That was the responsibility granted to Pronyma when she became leader, when she was viewed for her worth. She had survived this long, outlasting very last one of her so-called comrades. Kvar stabbed until he was full of holes, Forcystus meeting an unheroic end, Magnius lying on the floor to die in worthlessness, and Rodyle…. Rodyle had always been a fool. What she gave him had been far too merciful for one such as him.

The vessel was finally in their hands. Lord Yggdrasill’s dream would be realized. Yet she could only glare at the impudent boy who held a resemblance she had grown to loathe so viciously.

He held no fear to the metal blades fanning her, their insides glowing with the runes inscribed onto them, linking to the mana within her. He tried knocking one aside with his sword as if it was merely a paper fan.

“Dark Sphere!” she yelled, gripping the magic surrounding him, hearing him scream before she lunged at him with her mace, aiming at his knee.

It didn’t matter that the healing magic from one of his companions was surrounding him then, allowing him to stand and block at the last second. She still pressed on, overwhelming him with all of her desperation, all that she had.

This boy didn’t know.

“You will die here now!” she seethed, her hair unkempt from its hold, lunging forward again. Her own worthless help had long ago expired, their bodies now lying lifeless on the ground. She saw the boy’s eyes widen in surprise, and took her chance. Lord Yggdrasill was still nearby, watching her, assessing her worth. She wouldn’t fail. She couldn’t fail.

“It is your fault they’re still alive! Kill them!” And she would fix this mistake. She would fix this. She would fix everyone’s messes – including her own.

“Get off!” the boy shouted, his red outfit an outrageous eyesore. Maybe it was that stupidity that had made her lose her hold, that had made her miss the irritating sting of a paper card at her side, somehow slipping through her metal blades. A twitch, and the boy was quick all the sudden. She saw the glimpse of his Exsphere, and felt rage.

Kvar was laughing from his grave.

The blades slid through her, and just like that, her magic weakened considerably. Her floating armor collapsed to the ground like tattered debris, her mace fell from slack fingers. The boy’s face was near as he attacked, his eyes all too similar to that traitor. One of so many. There had been so many, and only she had been truly loyal.

She used what was left of her magic to move away, but could only fall to her side, the pain unbearable. Blood coated her side. She pressed her palms to the floor, ignoring her would-be murderer, and raised her head towards where the light was brightest.

“Lord Yggdrasill…” she pleaded, as she had not done in so many years. “It hurts…”

Her savior was turned away, his wings glowing a most radiant light. He looked to the seed hovering before him. He spoke as if no one was there at all.

She crawled, gasping for air. She reached out to grasp at his hand that hung by his side.

“Mithos, please.”

When he turned, she expected to see him, the boy who had saved her from a worthless, undignified death in a wretched battlefield.

And, for a fleeting second, she saw him, as she remembered.

“Pronyma,” he said to her, with a small smile, one that did not reach the eyes. But she didn’t blame him at all. “You’ve done well.”