Emalia turned from the frozen Soulborne they had been observing and stared into the Hall of Souls. She could have sworn that Daecinus had shouted something.

"Sovina?"

"I heard it too." She brandished her sword and approached the entranceway, peering in. "Should I investigate?"

"No!" Emalia shouted, then grimaced. "It's too dangerous. With what happened to me… I don't want you—"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have suggested it."

"No, it's… What did you hear him say?"

"Our names, I'm certain. Something about killing 'him'—" she glanced over to the tsar, pressed against the wall far from the Soulborne "—and that's all."

Emalia was about to respond when Sovina stiffened, so she, too, peered inside the room, catching movement. Someone was approaching. They weren't Daecinus, certainly, for the person was too short, with long and dark hair, and was—oddly—naked. Um, could this be Demetria? Emalia thought, squinting in the low light. No. No, Daecinus wouldn't just let her walk out like this unguarded, alone. Besides, this stranger had the build of a man she now saw, though, oddly, not the organs of one. In fact, even more strangely to her anatomically trained eye, he was sexless. His entire body seemed oddly perfected, strangely featureless. Something was not right here, not natural.

"Stop!" Sovina shouted.

He faltered, frowning. Something was behind him on the ground.

Emalia looked back up at his face, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. "Who are you? What do you have there?"

He was about five paces away, mostly revealed by the frozen Soulborne's torchlight, though still with features cast in shadow. His face was bent in anger and annoyance, she thought, as if this was not part of his plan.

Sovina gasped. "Behind him. Gods, look!"

Emalia did. The person was dragging not something but someone. A woman covered in a tunic. She had Daecinus's greyish skin. "Let go of her!" Emalia shouted, suddenly filled with horrid, sick fear. "Let go and back away!"

The stranger didn't comply but began marching forward once more. Sovina raised her blade to chest height, guarding the threshold even if she couldn't enter. "You heard her."

"You are committing a grave error," he said, and at once, Emalia felt her fear be justified.

It was the Spirits—the priests. The same voice that pretended to be Raizak's own, the same arrogance that infested her. Oh, how are they alive in this world? Rotaal, how could you release them? "It's you," she whispered, pulling her dagger, thrusting it forth like Sovina's saber. "Daecinus killed you!"

His eyes met hers, narrowing for a moment before his lips widened in a confident smile. "Fortunately for Vasia, he did not. It's good to see you in the flesh. It pleases us to know you are well, disciple."

For a moment, she felt a spear of shame thrust through her. As if Raizak himself were speaking through him. Quickly, she collected herself. "I am no disciple of yours. You have no power here, even if the Column still stood."

"While the stones rest in their bone-ground mortar, the Column stands. It shall not fall, and neither shall Vasia. We are here to ensure that. We have endeavored to return to ensure that." He took another step forward, only an arm's length away from Sovina's blade. "And you are a disciple of ours. We forged the Column as you know it. We defeated Pethya and claimed its mantle as hegemon of the Kastalec. We bound Vasia to a tsar, uniting it in purpose and Spirit." He looked to the hall behind, likely to the tsar, though she didn't dare turn away to see. "We shall guide him and Vasia into a golden age all only know through stories and fading monuments. Now, Priestess of my Column, let me pass."

Emalia licked her lips, fingers tightening around her small knife. The man was right: he, or they, did do all he claimed, and if there was anyone who might save Vasia from its downfall, it was him. The high priests of old were all powerful Sorcerers, after all. So why didn't he just attack? If the High is the opposite of the Low, it doesn't offer overwhelming power but draws it from you. Daecinus couldn't cast Spells in there! That's why he tested it by backing out of it earlier. It means this man is a Sorcerer, able to remain inside without being overwhelmed by the Souls. And yet, that didn't make it right to keep him inside, much less kill him. If he was Vasia's only hope… He is no ally of mine! But is Daecinus? After what he's tried to do, even if I understand his rage? This is my home, and he destroyed it. She wavered there, orders for Sovina stuck in her throat. Fight him? Let him go? She couldn't let Demetria die. She didn't deserve such a fate. But did Daecinus?

She was a priestess of the Column, and her loyalties should be clear, and yet…

"Fuck you," Sovina growled. "Try and claim to be her superior? After what you did? You're just a parasite. Take another step, and I'll cut off your head."

"Sovina," Emalia began, faltering, "I don't know—"

She glanced over, eyes alight in fury. "I don't care what he promises. Whatever he says. He became my enemy from the moment he deceived you."

"We are Vasia's hope and life, Guardian," the high priest said. "While your loyalty is commendable, your animosity is misplaced. We had to escape by any means necessary, Priestess Emalia just—"

"Hand over the woman and tell us what you did to Daecinus."

He scowled at Sovina, then turned to Emalia, beseeching. "Will you allow Vasia to falter? Will you allow the Column to break and shatter forever? All over an unfortunate necessity?"

"It's not just because of that," she replied, looking down at Demetria.

"Her?" He barked out a laugh. "The Pethyans are enemies of all we stand for! We witnessed from his hate-ridden mind as he murdered dozens, hundreds of our countrymen and women. Before, as he broke our lands in war!"

"Because of what you did to her!"

"Ah, where it all began. Our predecessors." He nodded and looked away, expression softening. "They made a mistake in killing her, yes. But it was for logical reasons: without war, Vasia could never rise above its station as a glorified tributary. As horrid as it was, without it, we would never have had the empire. From the Floating Cities to the Northeastern reaches of Olgaria, we brought order, civilizing tribes and petty kingdoms, ushering them into the fold. We would never have the Column without that war, Priestess, even if they brought it about too soon, before we were truly ready. And so, what could we do but retaliate against Daecinus's historic crime? He had killed our men, widowed our women, seen our nation trampled. We had to rebuild, we had to retaliate. Our hands were forced by our predecessors, it is true, but the destiny of Vasia required it."

Sovina scoffed before Emalia had time to analyze the truth of their statements. "Spew the words you wish, Spirits. You'll find my blade here to meet you either way."

"Rein in your Guardian, Priestess! We are running out of time!"

"No." Emalia clenched her jaw, all doubt suddenly gone. "She's right. Hand Demetria over."

"You force my hand." He sighed and looked up, expression hardening into certainty and necessity of precipitous violence. He made to walk forward once more.

Emalia braced herself, regripping her knife. Then turned to the fall of heavy footsteps behind. The tsar rushed at them, and before she could stop him, he crashed into Sovina's back, shoving her forward. Emalia screamed and reached out, snatching the edge of her mail shirt sleeve. The oiled links almost slipped from her fingers as Sovina stumbled forward. But somehow, Sovina caught herself before falling into the chamber, other arm waving in desperate circles, catching the stone wall. She whipped around, warding the tsar back with a warning slash, and turned just in time to hack a bloody gash across the Priest's warding forearm. And yet, he still broke through, tackling into her, bringing them both to the ground. Emalia went to leap in, but the tsar was there too, and so she met him halfway. She caught him with an elbow in the ribs as they tumbled down; her knife dropped before she could accidentally stab him. But even so, he clawed at her face and shoved her back, scrambling to his feet to assist the high priest. Emalia grabbed his foot and dragged him to his hands and knees, then yanked again and sent him falling face-first onto the hard stone. Before he could get up, she scrambled for her dagger, jumped on top of the tsar, and put the blade to his neck.

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"Stop!" she hissed, then, when he froze, she finally looked up toward Sovina.

Her guardian had the priest nearly pinned against the doorway between the two rooms, saber fallen to the wayside in the struggle. She had cut him once more, by the looks of a bleeding gash across his forehead. Still, he fought on, almost slipping free, but Sovina was stronger, better trained, and was winning the struggle, keeping him inside the chamber, yet remaining outside herself, impossibly.

Then the man's eyes darted back, and Emalia felt her stomach drop. She went to leap up, but her foot got caught on the struggling tsar's arm, and she tripped, stumbling to the side, forced to watch as the high priest stopped trying to force his way out, and instead tried to haul Sovina and himself into the Crown of the Column. Arms tangled together, sword no longer in hand, Sovina toppled to the side, her strength used against her. Emalia howled out, kicking the tsar back, and rushed forward. But she was too slow. Sovina was wrought into the Hall of Souls.

As soon as she passed the threshold fully, Sovina froze as if seized. Her legs crumpled under her, and she fell to the floor with little more than a quiet gasp of pain. Emalia watched on, standing slowly, almost frozen in horror, before she shook herself free and went to rescue her love.

"Stop!" Sovina growled. "Don't!"

Something in her voice hit Emalia hard, halting her before she passed the threshold. She didn't know what, for few things in the world could possibly make her stop. But she didn't have time to reconsider, for the high priest was upon her. She caught him as he lunged for the entranceway, wrestling them both to the ground. Blood seeped from his wounds, splattering her and the walls alike. Emalia knew she had little time, and her knife was still in hand. So she held it tight and jammed it into the exposed high priest's belly. Or tried to. Her arm was caught, gripped by the tsar, nose broken and bleeding down his terrified face.

Emalia shouted at the both of them, cursed them, damned them as she fought. But the high priest fought his way free. Emalia twisted and writhed and squirmed, but she couldn't fight them both. A blow swept in from the side and rattled her skull, lighting everything white. She toppled to the ground, free arm protecting her head as another strike battered across her arm ineffectually, then a third snuck inside and hit the back of her neck. She kicked at whoever was punching her, eliciting a pained exhale, and tried to get her knife hand free again, to no success. Opening her eyes, she found the high priest standing with a grimace, clutching his face. Then he stepped over her and into the hall.

"Stay back!" she screamed out, clawing, punching, prying at the tsar's hands, nearly slipping her knife free.

Something cold touched her. Deeper than her flesh, deeper than her fat and muscle. Her core felt… frozen.

Cracking. Hollowing.

The high priest smiled a triumphant sneer, one arm extended toward her. The air around his hand writhed, distorted like the horizon over the sea. Her eyes stung staring at it, the air in her lungs turned sour and acidic, and her blood felt thick as sludge in her veins. Everything slowed, dimmed, and died.

She was going to die.

Then Sovina smashed the high priest in the face, sending him to the ground.

Emalia gasped, lurching up, life returning to her sudden and vivid as jumping in a cold winter pond. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled, so she only watched as Sovina pummeled the priest down, punch after punch smashing in his face. Blood splattered, spraying in the air, coating her fists and snarling face. Lips pulled back, bared teeth parting with each feral shout amidst the thunk of knuckles across flesh. Emalia stared, transfixed, horrified, relieved beyond compare. Past her, in the darkness of the hall, Demetria's body was gone. But this fact soon fled Emalia's mind as the high priest's head cracked across the stone, echoing through the small landing room.

"Don't you hurt her!" Sovina roared, cocking a fist back even higher, smashing teeth from the high priest's face, bashing his jaw with a horrid, meaty thunk. The ivory diadem clattered from his head to the floor, rolling out of reach. Emalia's eyes followed it, transfixed. Was there power in it visible to her? Or was she simply dazed and confused?

Emalia looked back to the fight. She clenched her fist but didn't feel the pommel of her blade. She shouted out but it was too late. The flash of cold iron was streaking up from the tsar's fist. It plunged into Sovina's side, knocking the wind from her. Her punches faltered. She knocked the tsar away with a backhand. Emalia tried to rush forward but just managed to topple to her side; she was so physically drained. The dagger clattered to the floor, unbloodied, unable to pierce Sovina's mail. But the brief pause was all the high priest needed.

Sovina skin turned pallid, flesh sucked in as if she was suddenly emaciated. The air warped and smelled of death.

The high priest wiped his bloody, brutalized face and stood on wobbling legs, glaring down upon Sovina. "We may be weak, just awoken," he hissed, words mushed and slurred. "But we are still far beyond you. Any of you." His glare shifted toward Emalia, and her own world burst into familiar agony. Death, as real and inevitable as she could possibly imagine, slid over her like a heavy veil, eating, devouring. "We are not of this broken age. We are—"

He gasped and turned, all pain suddenly dissipating; whatever horrid Spell was killing her was now gone once again. Emalia blacked out, then came to a moment later, weak beyond belief, upon her hands and knees. Encroaching black all around. It was all she could do to look up and see a half-conscious Demetria emerging from the darkness of Crown of the Column, and on her shoulder, in a far worse state, missing an arm and covered in his own blood, was Daecinus.

…

It had taken all I had to drag myself from the elevated structure, and now, only my dear Demetria kept me standing. Yet, it was not done. Demetria's abilities in Sorcery were inferior to my own, and she was in no state to use them, dazed and barely standing as she was. I, on the other hand…

Carefully, slowly, I lifted my ivory diadem from the floor and placed it upon my head, sighing in relief as power flooded back into me. My waning ward of reflective death strengthened, tightening its grasp over the interloper's draining Spell that bounced off my Sorcerous gambeson like hail off a tiled roof. The priest's face fell. I wondered if he'd been there on that day, centuries ago, when his ilk ambushed me at my Grand Observatory. But now it was I who had the upper hand.

Before he could find a way to break through my ward, I attempted to reassert dominion over my nearby Soulborne, frozen and still as they were. But something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I stopped pushing Soul energy into the nearby Soulborne, and yet, the few in the hall turned toward us, rotating like a child's mechanical toy, beyond my control.

The priest sneered. "Daecinus, the raiser of Dead legions, master of the horde, always so predictable." Before I could cast a Spell, the nearest Soulborne lurched forward, halting with its massive axe only a stride away from Emalia. I dropped my ward and readied a curse aimed at the priest's heart. But neither of us move to attack, knowing the probability of mutual destruction. The beginning of a new bargain, then. "It was your power that gave us control, you see. Back then, when, in our initial ignorance, we made our unfortunate error and your raised legion wreaked havoc—" he stopped to cough, wiping blood from his lips. With only a slight margin of strength in Sorcery, though drained as I was and without my Dead, the odds were not favorable for a clean victory. "You are far too weak to maintain your Dead. All across Nova, they are frozen, uncontrolled, dying. The few in the Column will be ours. If you kill us, they shall kill you. How many of your companions will die before they are reigned in?"

"Would you wager such a move when your death is ensured?" I replied evenly, still scrambling for alternative win conditions. In the back of my mind, his words chewed away at me, for he hinted at the disaster of my defeat centuries ago. The Dead that destroyed more than my enemies.

"Possibly. A death for a death." He straightened fully, gesturing to the tsar to come closer. He did, scampering near like a frightened dog. "Leave Nova. Leave Vasia, and never return. Do so, and I shall allow you and yours to go."

A trap. He shall kill us when convenient. With the leverage of an empire at his disposal, this is certain. If not today, then soon. He knows where my people hide. Merkenia will be a target. But I can scale in my power as well. And if I find Maecia, then she will add much to our strength. I worked through the estimations and calculations of the future, and my potential victory. It was impossible to say, but it was certain that this priest had the upper hand for now.

But then there is Feia, unaware, isolated in the palace, defended by frozen Soulborne, only a few of which she can manage. Perhaps Protis will have its wits still? No, I cannot plan on that. I winced at the thought. Still, I have the diadem and the Corrupted Eye, but is it enough for a certain victory? My mind rattled off key considerations as I stood there, supported by Demetria, eyes glazed over and leaning against a wall. She shouldn't have even been able to wake, let alone carry me from that room, pulled from death as she was, unlike the priest's relative state of near-proximity in my Soul. But she was strong. So very strong. And yet, I could not risk her, nor Emalia and Sovina. I glanced to their battered, Soul-drained forms, scarcely better off than myself. They sacrificed much for me. An enemy of their people.

Using my Soulsight, I gazed through the building and found nearly twenty Soulborne present. Most were moving up, getting closer, but not at my command. The priest was telling the truth. Soon, we would be surrounded. At the moment, gaining control was impossible through whatever trick the priest had pulled. And yet, I hated the notion of retreat. It felt like defeat, like surrender. But it was that or death, wasn't it? In the end, it was kill the priest and risk the others, possibly myself, or take a distasteful deal and fight another day.

"Emalia, Sovina, can you two move?" I asked.

The former groaned as Sovina shifted, rolling to her side. "Yes."

"Can you carry Emalia?"

Though she seemed about as drained, she nodded. "I can."

I glared at the priest, who was watching me closely, and grunted out, "Fine. But have my Soulborne disperse. If I see any on my descent, I will kill them, then return for you, whatever the consequences."

"Very well."

"And if you move to harm my companion in the palace, I will return for you."

After a moment, the priest gave a curt nod and waved to the Soulborne. They shifted, allowing passage from the hall to the stairs. It would still be dangerous, passing by such creatures. I abandoned my threatening Spell. Shortly after, the Soulborne dropped their axes and faced the wall. I heard more in the stairwell do the same. There were more than two that came with us up here, after all. I glanced to the priest, who had raised an eyebrow.

"It will suffice," I said.

"Then be gone."

I wanted to destroy him then and there. I wanted to crush the Column and see Nova fall at the hands of my Soulborne legion. I wanted proper, true justice. And yet, with my awareness expanded and Sorcery ready to lash out in defense, I waited for Sovina to haul Emalia to her feet and march ahead, then followed, not looking back. No attack came, and none would. The priest was many things, but he was not stupid. He had time to rebuild, grow stronger, and seek his own victory. Risking it now, while I held nearly as many cards as he was a risk he would not take. And, knowing I now held Demetria in my arms, he would assume I would act with caution and care.

And, for better or worse, he was right.

I had to get her out to safety. My war, at least for now, would have to wait.

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