Kale and Sadek moved to the edge of the camp, finding a perch that offered a view of the surrounding terrain. The stars above burned bright, their light muted by the faint glow of the horizon.

Sadek leaned against his spear, the haft planted firmly in the dirt. His expression, as always, was calm and unreadable, his eyes scanning the distance.

Kale settled beside him, wiping the edge of Aeloria's Promise on a scrap of cloth to clean off the blood. The silence lingered for a moment before he spoke. "Sadek, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

Kale hesitated, unsure if the question would land the wrong way. "Your armor… you mentioned it belonged to your father. What was he like?"

Sadek's hand tightened briefly on his spear, and for a moment, his gaze turned inward. "He was... everything I'm not. Disciplined. Respected. A leader."

Kale frowned. "I don't know. You seem like all those things to me."

Sadek let out a soft humorless chuckle. "You didn't know him. Arion. The Endless Storm. When he walked into a room, people stood straighter. When he gave orders, they were followed without question." He glanced down at the scratched and pitted armor he wore. "This was his. A symbol of what he stood for."

Kale nodded slowly. "Sounds like someone to look up to."

"He was," Sadek said. "And I failed him."

The comment caught Kale off guard. "What do you mean?"

Sadek's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he looked out over the darkened horizon. "Protecting me. It was my first battle—a real battle. I thought I was hot shit, the son of the Endless Storm. A fearless stormbrand. In reality I was reckless, stupid, arrogant. I overextended, and he stepped in. Took the hit that should've been mine." He glanced down at his armor, his voice dropping. "This is what he wore when it happened. The armor he died in."

Kale fell silent for a moment, letting the words settle. "That's... heavy."

Sadek nodded. "It is. But it's my burden to carry. A reminder of my failure, every time I move. It makes me sharper, better… because I refuse to waste the life he gave me."

He turned to Kale. "What about you? Your parents—what were they like?"

Kale's throat tightened, and he looked away for a moment, gripping the hilt of his sword. "They were… good people. Simple. They raised me right, you know? Taught me to stand up for what's right. My dad was strong, but quiet about it. My mom… she was the heart of the family." He hesitated, then added, "They're gone now. I still think about them, though. Every day."

Sadek nodded, his gaze returning to the horizon. "Good people leave marks that last."

Kale looked at him, surprised by the remark. "They do," he said quietly. "You can't hold all that weight forever, you know. Your father didn't die so you'd punish yourself for it. He died so you could keep going."

Sadek's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't respond.

"I didn't know him," Kale continued, "but I can't imagine someone called the Endless Storm would want you to spend your life buried under guilt."

"He cared about discipline. Control. He'd say that's what I lack."

"Maybe," Kale said, shrugging. "But you're here. You're protecting people. And if I had to guess, I think that's what would matter to him more than anything. You're doing your father proud, Sadek. Even if you don't see it."

Sadek's eyes narrowed briefly before softening. "You're wiser than you look, Kale."

"People tell me that," Kale replied with a faint smile.

Sadek huffed a quiet laugh, and shook his head, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Maybe you're right," he said at last. "Maybe not. But I'll keep trying."

Sadek's gaze lingered on the horizon. Kale watched him for a moment, then shrugged lightly.

"That's all any of us can do."

"Fair enough."

Kale leaned back against a nearby rock. The stars above seemed impossibly distant, the cool night air carrying a strange sense of calm after the chaos of the battle.

Sadek's spear hummed softly as he adjusted his grip, his eyes still scanning the quiet horizon. "It's time," he said after a moment. "We've done our part. Let the others take over."

Kale nodded, rolling his shoulder with a faint wince as he stepped back. "Yeah, probably for the best. I could use some sleep."

"Took you long enough to admit it."

As they walked back toward the camp, the small fire's light spilled out across the worn tents, shadows swaying and twisting in the breeze. Liliana was already waiting, her crimson eyes catching the glow as she leaned against the tent, her arms crossed.

"Finally," she said, straightening. "I thought you two were going to stand there all night."

Sadek tilted his head toward Namara, who was sprawled lazily by the fire, her arms folded behind her head. "Wake her up. It's her turn too."

Liliana sighed, strolling over to the succubus. She kicked Namara's leg—not too hard, but enough to jolt her.

"Time to wake up," Liliana said.

Namara groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Oh, Liliana, must you be so violent? I was having such a lovely dream."

"You weren't even asleep."

Namara peeked at her through one eye, her lips curling into a sly grin. "Still, it's the principle of the thing."

Liliana rolled her eyes. "Come on. We've got the watch."

Namara stretched dramatically as she sat up. "Fine, fine. But next time, a gentle nudge would suffice. Or, you know, a soft whisper." She winked. "I don't mind being woken up in creative ways."

Liliana sighed, already walking toward the edge of the camp. "Just try to stay focused."

Namara laughed lightly as she followed. "Oh, don't worry, darling. I've got my eye on everything."

***

Namara sat on a crate near the edge of the camp, one leg swinging over the side.

Liliana stood nearby, arms crossed, her eyes sweeping the shadows beyond the tents.

"So, about those markings," Namara said.

Liliana didn't look at her. "What markings?"

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Namara smiled to herself, tracing patterns in the dust with the toe of her boot. "You know. The ones Kale showed off when he got mad. All red and angry and a little... divine."

So she did see that, Liliana thought to herself. Here it comes.

Namara tilted her head. "I've seen markings like that before. On someone pretty famous. Let me think..."

She tapped her chin theatrically. "Ah. Right. Aeloria."

Liliana turned her head slightly, acknowledging it with a single, quiet, "Yes."

Namara leaned back on her elbows, watching the sky. "And since she's the only one in history with markings exactly like that..."

Liliana said nothing.

"So," Namara continued, "how'd Kale end up with them? And another thing. When I took his soul, there was something in there. Something old. Something angry."

She gave a low whistle. "Wooh! Big teeth! Very unlike Kale."

Liliana turned fully to face her. "You did what?"

Namara lifted her hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I gave it back! I only borrowed it."

"You took his soul."

"Only briefly! It's not like I broke anything."

She tapped her foot against the crate again, watching Liliana carefully. "But I felt it. Whatever's inside him, it's not mortal. Not normal. And definitely not sleeping. It wants to get out, Liliana."

Liliana glared at her.

"Seriously though," Namara said. "You do realize no mortal should be able to carry something like that, right? Especially not something that belonged to her."

Namara leaned forward. "How is he still alive?"

Suddenly the pieces clicked together in Liliana's mind.

The ritual.

The one that had destroyed her body, stolen her magic, nearly shattered her soul.

Initially she believed the cultists had meant to summon Xeroth, or perhaps Aeloria herself. After Kale revealed his grandfather was probably an extremely powerful, potentially legendary bladeweaver she had been leaning towards the idea that they had meant to summon Kale instead. But what if they hadn't tried to summon anyone at all?

What if they had meant to steal?

Aeloria's fury—her raw, apocalyptic wrath—had always been her most feared trait. The stories said she had ended some wars singlehandedly.

Liliana closed her eyes briefly, the memory of Serassa's temple rising in her mind—the massive mural of Aeloria standing in a storm of spectral blades and fire, her skin covered with savage red markings...

Those were Kale's markings.

Not a coincidence.

Not an accident.

That had to be it. They must have wanted to rip her fury, her power from her, and force it into a vessel they could control.

Kale hadn't been dragged there by mistake.

He was the vessel.

"They weren't trying to bring a god into the world," Liliana said quietly. "They were trying to rob one."

Namara blinked, then leaned back slightly on the crate. "Alright, cryptic. No idea what you're talking about."

Liliana didn't answer. Her gaze had turned distant again.

But why Kale?

Out of everyone in all the worlds... why him?

Was it because his grandfather had been a powerful bladeweaver?

Did he carry some kind of special bloodline?

Did they choose him because they thought he'd survive the ritual?

Because he looked like someone they could easily control?

No.

She shook her head slightly.

I'm still missing a piece of this puzzle.

Namara let out a dramatic sigh and slumped back on the crate. "You're really going to leave me hanging after that line? Ruuuhuuuude.."

Liliana didn't answer.

"Fine. Be mysterious. I'll just sit here in the dark with my completely normal questions and zero answers."

She glanced sideways. Still nothing.

Namara squinted at her. "Very mysterious."

Liliana looked her dead in the eyes. "We all have our secrets, Lirathiel."

Namara exhaled through her nose. "Right. Breaking out the old Lirathiel. Are you going to keep bringing that up? I thought we were past that?"

"I don't know, Lirathiel," Liliana said. "Maybe I'll bring it up a few more times. See how you like it."

Namara let the moment hang for just a beat before breaking it with her usual irreverence. "So, how about that Sadek? Have you ever smelled anyone like him? I mean, really—where does he get his perfume?"

Liliana blinked, caught off guard. "His… perfume?"

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed," Namara said with a grin, twirling a strand of her hair. "It's rich and sweet, like ripe cherries and almonds, but then—oh, then it changes. You catch this dark, smoky undertone, like cedarwood and vanilla, but with a hint of something dangerous, like spice lingering on a storm. It's impossible to ignore."

Liliana stared at her, clearly debating whether to respond. "You really put that much thought into it?"

Namara shrugged. "I have a refined nose. And besides, he makes it hard not to notice. It's like he walks around carrying a cloud of temptation. Honestly, I'm impressed."

Liliana sighed. "I'll pass on the deep analysis of Sadek's scent."

Namara chuckled. "Your loss. You should ask him where he gets it, though. Maybe he's hoarding the last bottle of something divine." She paused, her grin turning mischievous. "Or maybe it's natural. Do you think he just smells like that?"

"I think I've had enough of this conversation."

"Oh, don't worry," Namara said. "Kale's fast asleep. He won't hear a thing, and I'm sure he wouldn't be jealous. Probably. I mean, he's got to know you only have eyes for him. You don't hide it well."

"You know," Liliana said. "I used to think Kale was the most insufferable person in the world. But you've shown me just how wrong I was."

Namara gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Why, Liliana, that almost sounded like a compliment. I'm touched."

Liliana sighed. "I'm saying you're insufferable, Namara."

Namara chuckled. "The most insufferable person in the world! I'm growing on you. Admit it."

"Like a rash," Liliana muttered.

Namara opened her mouth to respond, but a faint, strained sound interrupted her. Both women froze, their attention snapping toward the tents.

It came again—a low, pained whimper, followed by a muffled gasp. Liliana's expression shifted immediately, her sharp edges softening as she recognized the source.

"Rika," she said quietly.

The sound grew louder, a mix of broken words and choked sobs escaping from the tent. Namara frowned, her playful demeanor fading. "She's dreaming."

Liliana was already moving, stepping closer to the tent's entrance. "More like a nightmare."

Namara folded her arms, tilting her head as she listened. "Poor thing. Can't blame her, after what they did. Should we wake her?"

Liliana hesitated, her hand hovering near the flap of the tent. "Sometimes waking someone during a nightmare just makes it worse."

Rika's voice cracked again, a desperate, incoherent plea.

Namara watched her carefully, her expression thoughtful. "You know," she said, stepping closer, "I can take her pain away. Give her a good dream. Make sure she rests, peacefully this time."

Liliana turned to look at her. "What do you mean, 'take her pain away?'"

"I mean exactly that. A little… gift, if you will. I can ease the nightmares, give her something better to hold onto while she sleeps."

Liliana's expression hardened. "And what would you take in return?"

Namara smiled, a small, almost sad curve of her lips. "Nothing this time. Believe it or not, I don't need to feed on everything I touch. I just think the poor girl's been through enough."

The strained sounds from the tent grew louder, pulling Liliana's attention back. She exhaled sharply. "If you're lying…"

Namara held up her hands, palms out. "I'm not. Consider it a favor."

Liliana's jaw clenched, but she stepped back from the tent flap, nodding stiffly. "Fine. But you don't do anything else. No tricks."

Namara gave a small laugh. "You wound me, Liliana. Why must you always think the worst of me? I said I'd help her. That's all."

She moved gracefully into the tent, kneeling beside Rika with a gentleness that seemed almost foreign to her usual demeanor. Liliana followed, lingering silently as she watched.

Namara reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before she began to stroke Rika's hair softly, smoothing the blood-matted strands away from her face. Her violet eyes began to glow, an otherworldly light that filled the tent with a warm, almost comforting hue.

At first, Rika's restless movements continued, her body twitching as if fighting some invisible force. Her murmurs were still broken and pained, her brow furrowed. But Namara's touch seemed to work its way through the storm. The tension in Rika's face eased little by little, the corners of her mouth softening, her breathing becoming steadier. The glow from Namara's eyes reflected in the single tear that slipped down Rika's cheek before disappearing into her skin.

Liliana crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the scene.

Rika's lips parted, her voice barely audible at first. "Kale…" she murmured. Her words were hesitant, as though searching for clarity. Then, as Namara's glow deepened, Rika's face brightened—not with light, but with joy. A soft, happy smile spread across her lips.

"Come on, Lili!" Rika said suddenly, her voice bright and playful. "I had him on the ropes! A few more seconds, and I'd have had him!"

Liliana's breath caught in her throat. The words were so familiar, so distinctly Rika, it was almost jarring after hearing her pained cries. Her friend's expression was one of pure, unfiltered happiness, like she was reliving a cherished memory.

Namara tilted her head, her touch never faltering. "She's dreaming of you," she said softly. "And him."

Liliana's chest tightened as she watched. Rika's smile grew wider, her body fully relaxed now. "Of course, Kaley. You'll always have me." she laughed softly in her sleep. "Damn right!"

Liliana stepped back, the emotion in her chest swelling into something almost too much to bear. For all that had been taken from Rika, for all that she had endured, this—this small moment of peace, of joy, felt like a victory.

Namara withdrew her hand slowly, the glow fading from her eyes as she glanced back at Liliana. "See? No tricks. Just dreams."

Liliana didn't respond at first, her gaze lingering on Rika's peaceful face. Finally, she nodded. "Thank you."

Namara smiled faintly, brushing a strand of her own hair behind her ear. "Don't mention it."

Rika shifted slightly, a soft, happy sigh escaping her lips as she nestled deeper into the makeshift bedding. The nightmare was gone, replaced by memories of warmth, of friendship, and of love.

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