The Diamond Voice

It had been a long day, Luca had been suffering from a rare case of writer's block, or...something like it. She could write, that was never an issue, but she hated everything she wrote. She'd spend hours putting quill to page, and then read it back to herself later and be filled with a deep sense of loathing. Sometimes it got this way. She cast her awareness out, pulling on the thread that tethered her to her warlock. Droaam. Huh. What was Charlie doing there?

It was rare for her to do this, but it was rare that she was in a mood like this. She closed her eyes and teleported, appearing seated behind Charlie in the cave, back to back.

"It's been a long day, Charlie. Tell me a joke"

The joke fell flat, but Luca wasn't sure if that was a reflection of Charlie or herself. She wasn't really in a humorous mood. She audibly exhaled, sensing that Charlie was waiting for some kind of reaction and believing he'd be hurt if she just stared at him. Damien shivered in his bedroll, oops. Luca placed her hand on Charlie's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, as she had come seeking comfort, but it just froze his shoulder.

The cold shoulder. Poetic, but not her intention.

She broke off the contact, fearful that she'd break this delicate thing, and poked around the camp a bit. There was still some food left in the pot, and the smell was good. Luca couldn't remember ever feeling hungry before, she rarely ate for pleasure and she didn't need to eat to live. She merely had to keep up appearances of being mortal. Still, the smell of Ban's curry had her stomach rumbling. Did she even have a stomach?

What a tantalising new sensation. She didn't even really think about it before she had a bowl in her hand and had spooned some of the curry into her mouth. Whose leftovers were these? She was filled with a sense of disgust at her action, and carefully put the bowl and spoon down.

"Did your friend make this?" she asked Charlie. He nodded, but he seemed a bit unsure of the situation to Luca. His confidence would grow as the story progressed, this was part of the journey.

"Please, bring him to see me when you're back in Sharn."

As requested, Charlie took Ban to meet Luca after their return to Sharn, following their mission in Droaam. As always, Charlie was offered free seats to the play, which today was "Five Lives", Luca's newest release. Five Lives was important to Luca, it felt like her way of processing all that she had done during the War, the friends she had made and the enemies too. They were all just people, not like Luca, just put on different sides of a conflict where nobody was right or wrong. Luca liked people, she often wished she was one.

She knew as soon as Charlie had arrived at the Diamond. After the performance, they came backstage to see her. Her mood had improved since her last conversation with Charlie, but she was constantly crushed under the weight of her sadness. Melancholy clung to her like seaweed dragging someone into the depths, and people always seemed to dampen in her presence. Charlie opened the door, stepping into the room alongside his friend, Ban. She could tell immediately that Ban was deeply affected by her presence, so she tried to give him a weak smile to alleviate the pressure, but it just made him cry.

"Oh, did I do something wrong?" she asked. If she was a person, she might've understood how she had mistepped, but she wasn't a person. 

"No, it's okay. I just wish I had some biscuits"

Luca was perplexed. This was not a response she could have predicted, and this intrigued her. Ban wasn't following the same script that she was. His emotions flowed freely, literally leaking from his face, and there was something beautiful about that to Luca. Ban seemed to Luca to be something of an unexpected hero, somebody small and unassuming but with a heart that had enough room inside it for everybody. His light would never dim, no matter what hardships befell him and his friends. His beliefs would be unshakeable, everything would work out, and somehow his certainty in this would be right. Things would always work out for him, even when they didn't. 

Ban was proof that everybody was capable of heroism. That through love, care, and a stubborn unwillingness to give up, he would keep his friends safe, warm, and fed. All of his friends, those he had met and those who hadn't. There would always be room for one more at the table. Luca saw a lot of herself in Ban, who she used to be, not who she was now. Even though she wasn't a person, in this way she was like one, she had changed.

She asked the pair what they thought of her play, and Ban began gushing. She had put a lot of herself into this one, and said as much, and this made Ban gush even more. He hadn't known she had written it! They had a lengthy conversation, but it didn't move anything inside of Luca despite her best efforts. She couldn't imagine a person speaking to Ban and not feeling something, his joy was so infectious.

But Luca Syara wasn't a person.

She asked Charlie for a joke, and this one landed better than the one in Droaam. She managed a small chuckle, and the reaction this got from Charlie made the effort worth it. Luca had tried to tell jokes before, but she had never been any good at it. Something about the delivery, or her face, stole the humour from them. She liked wordplay, occasionally wrote it into her plays, but it never worked when she was the comedian.

She had tried to tell Charlie one, once. They'd been chatting soon after they first met, she was enquiring about his craft, and he'd mentioned he was a comedian. She'd tried to summon a smile and answered "and I'm all ears", but this had just confused him.

Silly Luca, you weren't an elf this time. That joke only made sense if you were an elf. Humans don't think of their ears as worthy of remark.

Oh, she'd done it again. She'd been so lost in her reverie that she hadn't noticed the pair leave. She hoped she'd see Ban again, he'd vowed to bring her cookies. Luca had never really tried a cookie.

Luca was writing when she heard the call. She was almost always writing, though. Most of what she wrote never went further than her books, never became plays or works of art for anyone other than herself. That was okay, she primarily wrote for herself anyway. Anything to get the thoughts out of her head. She'd sometimes ponder as they traveled from her brain, down her arm, through the quill and onto the page. Words could take on a life of their own. She should know, she was a story made flesh.

The shock of it made her drop the quill. Charlie was in trouble, serious trouble, enough so that he'd prayed to her. He'd never done that before. She knew exactly where he was, was always vaguely aware but could hone in on it with some focus. A crypt? Beneath a fort? Karrnath. Fort Bones. Yashira had just run past him, and he'd frozen in the path of some enormous metal construct, joints screaming as it barreled towards him.

Usually, Luca would not intervene directly. If she got involved too often, that would remove stakes from the story. Why wouldn't Charlie just rely on her for everything, if that were an option? It would make for a boring story, and Luca couldn't abide that. This moment was significant, though. It would be dramatic if she intervened here, saving Charlie from certain death. She couldn't solve the issue wholly, however, that would cheapen the moment. No, the spotlight had to stay on Charlie and his friends, the story being told was focused on them. They were the main characters, for now.

Luca was only a member of the supporting cast, so that was all she could do in this moment. She closed her eyes and felt her surroundings shift, the warm air of her office in the Diamond Theatre giving way to the cool, musty air of the catacombs beneath Fort Bones. It was more dramatic for her to appear in a more fairy-tale esque form, so she adopted the mantle of the snow queen, magnificent and terrible. Much more exciting than the wrapped up playwright. She caught the claw of the construct and held it in place,  half turning towards Charlie to briefly make eye contact and convey the graveness of his situation. Graveness felt appropriate for a crypt.

"Charlie, why aren't you running?"

The floor seemed to drop from under Charlie, waking him from his reverie like a slight fall wakes one from a dream. With a start, he turned and bolted, chasing after his companions. Luca waited until he was out of sight, the construct struggling against her grip, and then she shattered. Ice and frost coated the walls and the metallic carapace of the creature, but did no real harm to it. It wouldn't've been narratively appropriate for her to hinder it too much, she had to keep the tension high, just slowing it enough that they would get away by the skin of their teeth.

Did teeth have skin? Luca would ponder that later.

She had every confidence that they would get away, maybe with a little collateral damage. Maybe the stress would forge them into something more than they were. She watched, disembodied, as Nerys and Damien made a heroic effort to slow the monster down, to save what lives they could.

"This is a moment where we have to decide whether we are mercenaries or heroes! And I want to be a hero!"

Yes, this was exactly what Luca wanted. A suitably dramatic closing moment, a fitting display of power that would've been impossible until this exact moment. Of course it succeeded, Luca could imagine it no other way. Failure can sometimes make a story more interesting, but in moments like these it would just steal the momentum, leave a bitter taste in the mouth of the audience.

Being tempered in metaphorical flames like this would certainly lead to character growth, for all of them. Luca looked forward to seeing it.

Luca sat in silence for a long time after Charlie and his friends left her office. Tonight's showing had been "Lost in Mourning", a play exploring the horror of the Mourning and its effect on the people caught within it, and those still suffering from its impact. Perhaps meeting Charlie's friends after they'd just seen a sad play wasn't the best idea.

Nerysdeth reminded Luca of herself, once. Full of hopes, joy, a fiery desire to create, taking inspiration in everything. They had been so excited to see her, they even had an old copy of one of Luca's manuscripts that they wanted her to sign. Luca was no stranger to the idea that people were fans of her work, but this was a level of devotion she had scarcely experienced from another. This, too, reminded Luca of herself. She hoped that Nerys' life would be a better story than hers, though she understood all too well that the best stories are full of strife and conflict. Maybe a boring story would be best, but somehow Luca didn't see that for Nerys. Nerys would be the kind of character whose positivity wouldn't waver until it was dramatically appropriate, to convey the bleakness of the plot, before bouncing back brighter and bubblier than ever when they won the day.

Ruckus was obviously a protagonist. He was strange, ostracised (willingly?), and capable in an unusual way. He would be the favourite character of a large fan base, relatable and cute in a kind of scrungly way. Luca liked the scrungly ones, she always had. It had been such a long time since she'd last been a goblin, but the goblinoids weren't currently the main characters, their stories had been told for millennia. Perhaps that would change, soon, it often did. She was certain that this one had a tragic backstory of some kind, full of angst and misunderstanding, just waiting for someone to show him kindness and make a friend, honourbound, for life. It was tropey, but Luca understood more than anyone the value in tropes. If they weren't effective, they wouldn't be so common.

The Aundairian, Damien, was definitely a fan favourite. In most stories, he'd be the protagonist or the love interest. Perhaps there'd even be a love triangle involved. She could easily picture crazed crowds fainting dramatically as he swished his hair and puffed out his chest, showing off the dragonmark emblazoned there. He was of particular interest to Charlie, judging by the heat he created in Charlie's face when they locked eyes. Heat to counter the cold. Poetic.

He had seemed to get angry with her. She had graciously declined to accept his thanks, but that had seemed to be the wrong choice of dialogue. It was always easier in the manuscripts, where she could control how both parties in a conversation would react to the other. She always excelled in her art, whatever form it took, and conversation seemed easier and more natural when it was on a page, then rehearsed by actors. Real, unrehearsed conversation was messy and rife with misunderstandings, miscommunications, and feelings. She used to be good at feelings.

She hoped she hadn't got Charlie into too much trouble. It had been years since she'd last been to Thelanis, though she wasn't sure at this point exactly how long it had been. She'd abandoned her story, abandoned her home, and yet she was still doomed to follow its beats. What was the point? She was still fucking it up, despite her intentions to do good. Was that the lesson? Was she attracted to lost causes because she, herself, was a lost cause?

She was spiralling, she could feel it, acknowledge it, and still she would suffer it. She was always going in circles, metaphorically. Charlie was new, a muse that wasn't dead. Perhaps this would be the inciting incident that pushed her along, broke the cycle, but it hadn't happened yet. She put her quill to ink, and then to paper. Creation was the only thing that truly alleviated her suffering, and that was as fleeting as a joke. Perhaps her next work should be a comedy?

Ridiculous.

Charlie and his friends were off to Thaliost, Luca had heard, and this worried her. They'd been in danger before, of course, they'd fought monsters in the mountains of Droaam, survived the freezing cold of Icewhite Isle, and even travelled to Daanvi and returned in good health. Thaliost was different, though, it would be a different genre of story altogether. There would be little room for heroic derring-do, Thaliost would be much more like their recent excursion to Fort Bones: a story of political intrigue and tension.

Luca had never liked political intrigue, but it had been growing on her since the War. Most of the plays she'd written since could be viewed through such a lens, given the lessons she tried to impart with her art. The lessons she had herself learned during that conflict. Reflection did not always bring peace, and Luca found herself letting out a soft "no" as she unwillingly cast her mind back to the memories that had inspired her first play.

The Diamond Voice had been forbidden from fighting in the Last War. She'd watched it unfold from the Moonlit Vale in Thelanis, the early conflicts, the politicking from the Wynarn royal heirs. This didn't seem like one of those conflicts that she normally wrote about, there was no clear good, nor evil, but there nevertheless seemed to be heroes and villains. Perhaps more accurately, protagonists and antagonists. Heroism or villainy were often matters of perspective. This kept The Moonlit Bard in Thelanis, performing her role, but she never stopped watching events unfold, fascinated by this story that didn't follow the conventions she knew so well.

Sometimes, on rare occasions, the fey denizens of Thelanis would leave the plane. Generally, this was something done by lesser fey, the Supporting Cast. Their leaving would provide some disruption, but the tale would recover, adjusting to their absence or replacing them with someone new. Generally, these fey would become more and more mortal the longer they spent from Thelanis.

It was almost unheard of for a Ghaele to abandon their story and leave Thelanis. They were far too important, central to the plot, and the story would not be able to adapt to their absence without changing fundamentally. A Ghaele eladrin is their story. The Unsung Poet knew all of this, but she nevertheless felt a yearning. She had always felt a closer connection to mortals than her kin did, and besides, she hadn't always been an archfey. The story existed before her, and it would no doubt continue without her.

In 936 YK, following the sack of Metrol by Karrnathi forces, the elf known as Lia Syraen enlisted in Cyre's military.

Cyre played the victim beautifully, rallying the world to their side. News of Karrnath's atrocities in Metrol was repeated in every tavern on the continent. Shortly thereafter, Karrnath found itself isolated: Breland cut ties, Thrane condemned their actions. More relevant to this story, the actions of Lord Kron during the sack of Metrol had revealed to Lia that there were clear heroes and villains in this conflict. She could not conceive of a world where those who could do what Karrnath had done would not be considered villains.

Lia was a part of the Cyran offensive into Karrnath in 936 YK, under General Brugeff. Though there were a few pitched battles, (the ones the bards would call heroic), Lia was disheartened to discover that most of one's time during war is spent waiting, or walking. There was so much walking. Lia didn't know how the others did it, with their mortal metabolisms and vulnerability to sore feet. Lia didn't have to worry about either of these things, she had to grapple with a more insiduous demon: boredom.

She was present at the first siege of Korth, but they could not breach the walls. So she waited. They were always waiting or walking. When given the order to ransack the surrounding countryside, in a land already ravaged by famine and the aftershocks of multiple plagues, Lia's resolve began to waver. She had abandoned her post in Thelanis, thrown herself into what she thought was a righteous cause, and she was burning the crops of those who were already starving.

The following years would not help to assuage her doubts. A brutal back and forth played out between Cyre and Karrnath for the next several years, and Lia would besiege Korth for a second time to no avail. She made friends with her squadmates, built a rapport, and watched every single one of them die during the third battle in the Talenta Plains in 942. The Cyrans had set a trap for Karrnath's cavalry, but somehow the Karrns saw it coming and sprung a trap of their own.

What were they even doing here!?

This would be the first time that Lia Syraen clashed with the Order of the Emerald Claw.

Luca inhaled deeply, before breathing out slowly. It wasn't cold in her office, but her breath left a telltale frosty mist. She'd been so different in those early days of the war. She'd thought she was fighting for a cause she believed in, that the conflict was black and white. The Cyrans were the victims, and more importantly than that, they were the underdog. Everybody loves an underdog.

Especially Luca.

942 YK

Lia Syraen threw herself down into the trench, taking cover. What had gone wrong? They had the intel, they knew where the Karrns were going to be passing through the Plains. They'd laid a trap, dug trenches for over half a mile and then disguised them with illusion magic. The plan was simple, the Karrns would cross their paths and see a weak (illusory) infantry force, and then on their charge would shatter their mounts as they fell into the trenches. Those not killed by their own mounts collapsing on them would be easy pickings then, weighed down in their heavy armour and likely injured or in compromising positions.

The Karrns had known about the trenches, though. How? Did someone betray them? Was there a mistake in the illusions?

The trenches had gone from the lynchpin of their trap to their only source of safety against the charge. The Cyrans were heavily outnumbered, and their infantry couldn't reliably win against the Karrns, without even factoring in the cavalry. Lia hated fighting horses, they couldn't even understand enough to question why they were here, why they were dying. She didn't have much of a choice though, it was take down the knights or lose her squad again.

With a deep breath, she climbed out of the trench and took in her surroundings. The situation wasn't as dire as it had seemed when she dived into cover, the Valaes Tairn mercenaries had flanked the Karrns and were tearing into their crossbowmen, whilst smaller divisions of elven cavalry disrupted and distracted the Karrnathi knights. A Karrnathi soldier rushed her, their years of training clear in their approach and the way they handled their equipment. Probably Rekkenmark. It didn't matter.

She moved on from that, and felt a surge of disgust at her lack of disgust. She'd already grown numb to the violence she was inflicting on people whose only crime was being born in the wrong place, under the wrong monarch. She cut down three more of them before an armoured warhorse rammed into her back and laid her flat. She managed to roll and get her shield up as the horse's hooves thundered down on top of her. The wood almost immediately began to splinter, and she was sure that if she was a person her ribs would've been broken. She rolled clear of the next stomp and managed to get onto her knees before throwing her broken shield at the rider to create some space.

The knight backed off and Lia was able to assess how fucked she was. Bonecraft armour, on both the rider and the mount. They were wearing a tabard that featured iconography of a green, clawed hand. Emerald Claw. She knew them more by reputation than anything else, she hadn't yet had the displeasure of facing them herself. She'd heard nothing good, they were actually the kind of monsters that all the propaganda claimed all Karrns were, and their presence on this battlefield meant there would be undead present, too.

Lia hated fighting undead, even more than she hated fighting horses. They had no fear, and they felt no pain. She wouldn't be able to route them or incapacitate them with non-lethal injuries, she'd have to destroy them. That was a concern for later, however, as in this moment she had the rapidly approaching issue of a 1,500lb warhorse and its heavily armoured rider bearing down on her. Her sword flashed as she dove out of the way of the charge, cutting a leather strap holding the saddle on the horse's back. It wasn't enough to unseat the knight, but it did throw them off balance, which they'd need to take time to adjust for. She didn't give them that chance, as soon as she hit the ground she exploded to her feet and gave chase. This was an insane thing to do, so naturally the rider didn't expect it and brought their horse to a stop as they rounded for another charge.

Just as they had begun their turn, Lia climbed onto the back of the horse and it tried to buck her. The rider couldn't turn enough in the saddle to really deal with the threat, and Lia took advantage of that to slide a dagger from her belt and slip it under the pauldron and into the armpit of the knight. Their whole body jolted as the knife hit home, and then a heavily armoured elbow caught Lia across the face and sent her rolling off of the horse. The knight flailed to try and remove the knife, but they couldn't reach it with their armour (and now the dagger) restricting their movement.

She'd been too focused on the knight, and she hadn't noticed the skeletal soldiers that had been gathering around them as they fought. She also hadn't noticed her own unit regrouping, though, albeit a few less than they were a few hours ago. Her commanding officer yelled out for them to switch to their maces, better to crush the bones of the undead, and it would help her get through the knight's armour anyway. Lia spat blood from her mouth, drawing her mace in her offhand as she made eye contact with the knight of the Emerald Claw. She started to count in her head as the horse began another charge, and she had a moment to appreciate the quality of the horses training for it to keep going despite what it had been through. She hadn't had time to really look at it before now.

Oh. The horse was a skeleton too. That shouldn't have been surprising considering the rider's affiliation, and yet it still filled her with a sense of frustration. She lowered her stance as it came, diving to the side, narrowly avoiding the knight's own mace (which she now realised was shaped like a metal skull. Really?) and colliding with a charging skeleton, causing them both to collapse into a tangle of flesh, bone and metal. She let out a scream of frustration as she crushed the skeleton's head with her mace and got to her feet, watching as the knight rode down one of her squadmates.

This was all too much, her friends were dying because she couldn't take down one fucking knight. Their armour was too thick, if they'd been a regular armoured knight the situation wouldn't've been so dire, but a bone knight was something else. This person had crafted the armour and bonded it to them with necromancy, affording them mobility and protection that metal alone couldn't. She had to get them off of that horse.

She didn't wait for the knight to charge her again, she went after them as they plowed into the Cyran line, jumping onto the back of the horse as its charged was slowed by one of her comrades, and she cut the saddle from the mount. She hooked the knight's arm with her mace, and then she launched herself back off of the horse, bringing the knight clattering to the ground with her. Her own armour was getting in the way as well, but she didn't have a dagger lodged in her armpit. She yanked the dagger free, causing the knight to spasm again and start to bleed profusely. Lia wouldn't give them the time to bleed out, though, she kicked them as they tried to get to their feet, the steel of her sabaton causing a satisfying crunch as it collided with the bone helmet.

Lia had a moment to consider that if she'd been a person, she would have likely just broken her foot. She straddled the knight on the ground, pinning them in place, and made eye contact against through the eyeslit of their helmet. She heard something like "please" as the knight coughed, they were losing blood quickly. Lia looked around, at the undead that were menacing her companions, and she yelled in the knight's face to call them off. The knight laughed, and that proved to be too much for Lia, and she stabbed them through the visor.

The effect was immediate, as the undead lost any cohesion. They were simply mindless monsters again, acting on impulse, and much easier to take down than when acting with coordination. Lia struggled to her feet, blood rushing over her eyes from a head wound she didn't remember suffering. When had she lost her helmet? Despite her initial assessment, it seemed that the Cyrans had been pushed back but had not routed, they had held their own. The elven mercenaries were wreaking havoc, and this almost certainly played a role in this. 

How had the Karrns known about the trap? How many of her companions, friends, died because of it?

She couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't worth it.

The following day went much the same. The Karrns came again, but their numbers were just as diminished as the Cyrans were, and their heavy cavalry had largely been blunted by the previous day. The Cyrans hunkered down with their pikes, and the First Metrol Wands division provided artillery support enough to hold them back. Cyre had inferior numbers to the Karrns, but through clever tactics (and application of mercenaries) they were pulling through.

Lia had found herself and her squad, in no small part due to her valour yesterday, assigned close to King Connos today. Not as part of his honour guard, but nevertheless central to Cyre's line. This was meant as a kind of honour, to acknowledge their heroism (and it couldn't hurt to have someone who could single-handedly take down a bone knight close at hand), but for Lia it simply caused her anxiety to spike. She had developed a terrible fear of being the lone survivor, of being the only member of her squad to return from missions that never seemed to go to plan, and this fear was made all the more real by the proximity to the king she had sworn herself to serve.

She didn't like that he insisted on being so close to the frontline. She understood the reasoning well enough, it was important for morale that he be seen to lead, and that he be unwilling to put others in danger that he wouldn't face himself. It seemed an unnecessary risk. Lia had bigger things to worry about once the lines met, however, and her focus became keeping herself and those immediately around her alive. She'd been given a pike today, which made her significantly more lethal against the Karrns cavalry charges, but it wasn't really how she liked to fight. She wanted to move, but the pike required her to be grounded and brace, and she had to force down the fear that flooded her every time she was faced with a charging horse.

Battle is chaotic, and battle lines don't remain orderly and structured for long. She'd held onto the pike as long as she could, but at some point the battle had turned into something of a brawl, and she was once again wielding mace and sword. She had been slowly making her way towards King Connos and his unit, as the Order of the Emerald Claw were advancing on the Cyran leadership.

Lia arrived as a unit of bone knights broke through the front line and drove a wedge into it, through which the Karrns infantry forces were advancing. This risked the collapse of the Cyran front entirely, and something drastic was needed to plug the hole. The First Metrol Wands were making a difference, magic was one of the Cyran forces' strongest advantages over the Karrns, but if they couldn't take down the bone knights and cut off the head of the undead forces, it wouldn't matter.

Undead didn't break, they didn't route. You had to destroy them utterly. Lia hated fighting undead.

She charged into the fray, whirling and striking out with her sword and mace, cutting the living and crushing the dead. Thankfully for her, Cyre's special forces specialised in dual wielding, and so she didn't look too out of place despite using techniques that nobody in Cyre had taught her (and nobody was paying too much attention that she wasn't a member of Cyre's special forces). It wouldn't matter anyway if everybody died here, which was a distinct possibility, and she could find a way to explain herself.

She was more prepared for bone knights this time, too. She knew the way to take them out, to separate them from their horse and execute them while they were vulnerable. She had no qualms with destroying undead mounts. Once she'd cleared a path to the knights, and to King Connos, she slipped her sword back into its sheathe, moved her mace to her dominant hand, and drew a wand.

Lia Syraen was not a member of the First Metrol Wands, but almost every soldier in the Cyran army had some ability to use magic, especially given a wand. She would struggle to harm the knights with her sword, but the mace could crush bone and the wand gave her options. She timed the first salvo with a barrage of magic missiles from the wandslingers, and followed it up by aiming for the legs of the mounts with her mace.

There is such a thing as being too effective, and Lia's prowess made her stand out too much to the Karrns. They identified her as a threat that needed to be removed, and several bone knights from both the Order of the Emerald Claw and the Order of the Onyx Skull separated her from her forces and surrounded her. She put her mace back onto the hoop on her belt, and drew out a small, complex disc. Blast discs hadn't become common in the war yet, but Cyre was ahead of the technological curve. The knights had surrounded her, but they couldn't seem to actually hit her, she always seemed to be just out of reach, and it was a rude awakening when several of them realised she hadn't just been dodging them, but that she had put something on their armour.

Her anger faded as she said the command word and detonated the discs, replaced with horror at what she had just done. To multiple people. She was covered in blood and slivers of shattered bone, with no way of knowing which bits of viscera had belonged to who. The world seemed to spin, sound was drowned out by a ringing in her ears as she dropped her wand looked around in a panicked daze. She didn't have time to have a breakdown, there was still a battle raging around her and the Karrns wanted her dead. She didn't remember drawing her sword again, didn't consciously recognise that she was fighting again, some animal part of her brain was screaming at her to escape, to find safety.

There was no safety to be found. Her brain fog was cut short as a dagger sprouted from her shoulder, the masked dwarf wielding it spinning around her and pulling the knife from the wound, causing a plume of her blood to spray out in front of her. She didn't think, she kicked him and sent him sprawling, clutching at her wounded arm. The dwarf got back to his feet, clutching at the ribs she'd just broken, and had the gall to laugh.

"Oh, you're something special. I've done what I needed to do, but you'll be seeing me again."

What the fuck did that mean?

The dwarf retreated behind enemy lines, and Lia wasn't in a state for a chase anyway. The battle was largely over, though she was troubled that she couldn't remember most of it, so she returned to the Cyran forces and reported to leadership.

Oh no. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

Lia found her armies leaders gathered around, and King Connos' page, a boy named Marson, was cradling the bloody armour of their monarch. He'd fallen in the battle, but nobody had seen what had happened. Lia thought she had a good idea, though, looking at the blood splatter, and the relatively undamaged state of the armour. She voiced her concern aloud, told her generals of the masked dwarf, and then she collapsed from her own blood loss.

Lia was sworn to secrecy, nobody could know that Connos had fallen, not yet. Marson would don his armour and helmet, illusions would modify his voice, and he would command Cyre's forces in the following battle. Lia Syraen did not fight on the third day, she was too injured, and too shaken by what she had seen and what she had suffered. The Karrns attempted to attack them during the night, the bastards, but Cyre's scouts had seen them coming and they walked into an ambush.

Unable to get the upper hand, the Karrns retreated and took a defensive position, and the Cyran forces refused to engage them. Both armies withdrew, with the Cyrans having achieved nothing of value and the Karrns having assassinated their king. What should have been a victory march was instead a funeral procession, as news of Connos' passing spread through the ranks.

What had been the point? What had this cost gained them?

Lia Syraen returned to Metrol with Connos' forces, and was celebrated as a hero. This recognition of her deeds felt utterly hollow to her, she had survived but they hadn't won, and it had happened again. She had failed when it mattered most, she hadn't even seen what had happened. How could she even begin to explain to Connos' seventeen year old daughter? How could she justify why she was still alive but their king was not?

Thankfully, that responsibility didn't fall to her, and she felt a surge of guilty relief at the fact. Coward.

She was present at the coronation. Queen Dannel was crowned and took on the responsibility of leading the jewel in Galifar's crown. She was still a kid, she should've been enjoying her childhood, not thinking about winning a war. Lia liked Dannel, she was a poet and a musician, she had a love for stories and she embodied everything that Lia loved about Cyre. In more peaceful times, she might've been the greatest ruler that Cyre had ever seen, but this was not a peaceful time. How would this change her?

Would she change like Lia had changed?

Dannel didn't have the backing of Cyre's noble houses, many of whom were dismayed at someone so young ascending the throne, but she had the backing of the military, and she had the backing of Lia Syraen, who was recruited into Cyre's special forces on Dannel's request shortly afterwards.

It was a cold, dark, cynical night in Sharn when Yashira Medani and her entourage walked into Luca Syara's office. Just like every night in Sharn. Luca had heard of this detective, seen them a few times even, but hadn't directly interacted with them before. Or had she? She had vague recollections of some case she was involved in, but it was fuzzy and escaped her if she tried to actively recall the details. Perhaps that hadn't happened, after all?

Nevertheless, Yashira was the only one of Charlie's friends that Luca hadn't been formally introduced to. She was also the one who had seen (or at least heard) Luca in Fort Bones. Did she know what Luca was? If she didn't, Luca thought she would be the person most likely to work it out regardless. She could see it in Yashira's eyes, the way she scanned the room, eyes lingering on anything noteworthy or out of place. This one would pick up on every detail, every clue, and would sniff Luca out like a bloodhound.

Luca found herself thinking it was good that this one hadn't been tasked with tracking her down. It was curious that none of the powers after her had turned to mortal inquisitives, even though she was certain that House Medani or House Tharashk would be capable of it. Immortal arrogance, perhaps, keeping them from turning to the most practical solution.

Luca looked at Yashira for a long time, stared really. She thought it seemed almost like looking into a mirror, a reflection of what could've been, how she might've turned out if things had been even slightly different. It was obvious to Luca that Yashira wasn't happy, but the reasons for that were multifaceted and complicated, more than Luca could glean from just looking at her. Luca's presence wouldn't be helping with that, either, nobody was happy when Luca was in the room. That wasn't true for Yashira, though, as wound up in her own head as she was, Luca could tell people liked her. People didn't look away when Yashira Medani entered a room, but Luca couldn't understand why, what the crucial difference was between them. Perhaps, if she'd been a person, it would've made more sense to her.

Damien spoke before Yashira, who seemed to be just as frozen as Luca was, staring with the same intensity. This brief respite from her attention seemed to allow the inquisitive to shake whatever had gripped her, and when Luca looked to her again she had regained her composure. 

"Did you solve that case?"

"Umm, sorry, what case?"

Luca frowned, trying again to get a grasp on the memory, but it slipped through her fingers like she was trying to grab a hold of water. Had she imagined it? She did have an active imagination, but she was usually able to differentiate between reality and fiction. She supposed the line between those two things were blurry where she was concerned. 

"I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else."

She then turned her attention to Damien. The last time she'd seen him, she'd said something that had made him angry with Charlie. She felt a need to correct that, though she couldn't place why. "The last time we spoke, I said something to you that caused a reaction I didn't intend, I apologise. It was largely in jest, you can thank me, there will be no debt implied. The rules do not apply."

Damien was suspicious of this, of course he was, he'd grown up surrounded by the fey. Luca wasn't like most fey, however, and she meant what she said. She'd always felt closer to mortals than to her kin, and that meant many of the "rules" that Damien likely learned in his youth for interacting with the fey didn't apply to her. She understood this wedge would be hard to budge, Damien's experiences were valuable and generally true, and he would be right not to trust that her words contained no pitfalls. If only she were a person, she'd be able to convince him of her sincerity.

"I've never been good at jokes, this one just got away from me."

Regardless, something had changed between Charlie and Damien. Luca could see the plot threads connecting them together, drawing them closer with each adventure, with each vulnerable moment shared. There had been a lot of vulnerable moments recently. Charlie had grown a lot since he and Luca had met at that party, when she'd first seen him perform. He'd grown more confident, more sure of himself, and though he was still a stressy mess of emotions, they were more focused. He was trying to find himself, and he was making more progress than he was facing setbacks.

This realisation welled something in Luca, though she couldn't quite place what it was. Not happiness, as such, that was alien and unattainable for her, but something nevertheless warm and pleasant. People had the ability to change their nature, to change their circumstances. They could grow, their story could change.

Luca wished so desperately to be a person.

"Thank you, for Fort Bones. I didn't know it was you that saved us." Yashira added, pulling Luca once again from her reverie. "Luca, do you...leave the theatre much?"

"I don't often, no. I met Charlie on one such excursion, but generally I find that people don't like my presence. Something about me upsets them."

Yashira considered that for a moment, treading carefully when she responded. "I agree that there is something about you that perhaps puts people off balance. Would you...like to leave the theatre more?"

"If I had a reason to, I might. I don't do well with crowds..." Luca responded, unsure where this was going. Yashira had said something about Luca unbalanced people, and she had observed this often enough. Despite her initial reaction, Yashira wasn't as unbalanced as the others though. It had been no less intense, but different. Yashira understood something about Luca that most didn't on first meeting her.

Misery loves company.

"I know a spot, if you wanted to get out for a while. There aren't any crowds, and you can get a good look at the night sky, which is rare in Sharn."

"I may take you up on that, though I suspect you'll be busy for a few days."

"It might help with the writers block" Yashira added, gesturing to the stacks of crumped paper occupying every horizontal surface in Luca's office. Luca looked around at it all and wondered if the solution could be so simple. 

"Writing is the only thing that brings me joy anymore, and I've hated everything I've written recently..." she trailed off, pages turning in her brain as she thought over what she'd just said.

"That isn't true, actually. Charlie brings me joy." she corrected, looking up at the others in the room. "The rest of you bring Charlie joy, so I suppose you bring me joy by proxy"

"How did your adventure go?" she asked, knowing full well how it had gone. She always knew when Charlie was in danger, even if she wasn't actively watching him. 

"Hmm, not great"

"Is that so?" Luca asked, confused. What did they mean, it didn't go well? They had saved the world, none of them had died. That was more than she had gotten on multiple occasions. She wouldn't voice this though, her bitterness wasn't helpful and they didn't deserve it. They'd just saved the world.

Between them, they explain the details of their adventure to Luca. Their investigation in Thaliost, getting the Lightning Rail to Passage, then to the Eldeen Reaches and their showdown at the Changegate. Luca listened intently to all of it, savouring the animation in their voices even though she already knew everything they were telling her. That didn't really matter to Luca. She found her gaze repeatedly drawn between Charlie and Damien, following the thread of their shared tale as they spoke.

Every time she looked at them, though, their fires dimmed. The sparkle left their eyes, the timber left their voices. She didn't understand, and her apparent inability to bridge the gap was only driving her deeper into herself.

"Thank you for visiting me. Did you like the play?"

"I'm sorry for how I reacted when I first saw you, it can't be pleasant to see people respond to you like that. It was a good play, thank you"

Yashira was right, but largely because Luca didn't understand why people responded this way to her, they didn't used to. During the war she'd made plenty of friends, over and over, making new ones every time her existing ones perished horribly and left her alone again. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over again. Something had shifted in her at some point, but she wasn't sure when or why.

That was a lie. She did know why, and she knew when. War never changes, but it had changed her.

"Did it make you want to see another?"

"I think it did, yeah"

"Then I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the others."

Luca then turned her attention to Ban, who she hadn't seen for some time. "Hello, Ban."

That was curious. Usually, people visible deflated when she looked at them, they looked away, they tried to remove themselves from her presence. Ban beamed at her. 

"Last time we spoke, you were quite upset." she stated, somehow meaning it as much a question as it was a statement. "I was, I don't like it when people are sad, and I try to fix it."

Ban produced a little bag of cinnamon cookies from his pack as he spoke, and held it out for her to take. "They're cinnamon cookies. I think cinnamon is the spice that tases the most like receiving a hug"

Luca gently took the bag from him, wondering aloud. "I've never had cinnamon before" she said, following up with a much quieter "and I've only ever had one hug."

Ban rose to the challenge in this statement, saying that he had those to give too, and holding his arms open. Luca was confused at the significance of this gesture, scanning Ban's face and stance with her eyes to try and work out what was going on. He seemed to get embarassed, playing off the gesture like it was nothing and scratching the back of his head with his hand.

Ah, she was supposed to do something.

She slowly extended her hand out to him, and then gently placed it on top of his head. Nailed it, Luca.

She thanked them again, and then remembered the reason she'd invited Charlie to come see her in the first place.

"Oh, Yashira, do you live at your office?"

"I do, it's like a...home office"

Luca looked at her own bed, buried under a mountain of paper. She didn't need to sleep, so it was just pointless furniture.

"Someones been watching it."

The group asked her some clarifying questions, which she answered to the best of her ability, but she couldn't give too much away. It wouldn't make for a compelling narrative if she just gave them the answers. Predictably, the group decided that they needed to leave, to follow the plot thread that Luca had just put in front of them.

Glove Songbird sat with one foot up on her chair, plucking at the strings of her lute as she played a calming melody for her comrades. It was a rare moment that brought them all together at the same time, where they could enjoy each others company in between their assignments. Glove Spectre, clean shaven and well dressed despite being at "home", was cooking whilst Whisper Flame watched. She was making lighthearted, flirty comments at him, tucking her flame-like hair behind her ear and gently giggling. It brought a smile to Songbird's face to see them being happy, together. She'd watched the romance bloom between them over the years, even been to their wedding. What a day that had been, Songbird would forever cherish the memory of their first Tago after being wed, the fabric of Flame's dress mesmerisingly mimicking fire as she twirled and the gloves came off. Their jobs so often had them apart, spread across Khorvaire tackling some threat or other to Cyre, so it was nice to see them just being together.

Songbird drew her gaze across the others in their common room. Whisper Shard was tinkering away at something on the dinner table, their blue hair floating around their head like it had avoided the notice of gravity, their eyes like a pair of broken mirrors as they worked. Flame would no doubt tell her off when she noticed, but for now they were focused on their husband.

Knowing Shard, it was probably a bomb.

"The dinner table isn't the place for that, is it?" she'd say, gently relocating Shard's work in progress to another surface. Shard would play at petulance, but she knew the rules as well as any of them did. Songbird wondered if they pushed it on purpose, the same scene had played out so many times over the last few years. There was a kind of comfort in the predictability, something to hold onto when their jobs so often plunged them into chaos.

Glove Drop was doing what they did best in these quiet moments: tending to the bar. She was preparing drinks for everyone, putting in far too much effort, creating a different beverage for each person present based on their tastes. Drop was talented, she was the only person that Songbird had met that was capable of reproducing some of the drinks she'd ask for, the ones she really missed from her time in Thelanis. The rhythmic shaking of ice in her hands had provided the tempo that Songbird began riffing from, though it wasn't consistent enough on its own to provide the beat. Songbird was matching Drop's timing using a tamberine hanging from her free foot.

Crown Wolf was watching the others in much the same way that Songbird was, her chaotic mane of red hair tied up into a ponytail and both feet up on the table. Spectre would admonish her for that, too, but he hadn't noticed it yet. Songbird couldn't blame him though, he was splitting his focus between the food he was cooking, and his wife. She was also twirling a long knife around in her free hand, which should've made Songbird nervous, but it didn't. Wolf had been doing flourishes and knife tricks for as long as Songbird had known her. If Songbird was any good at jokes, she'd've made one about Wolf losing her eye being related to the knife tricks, but jokes never landed well when Songbird told them.

"You really need to work on the fucking delivery" Wolf had said to her once, after she'd made a joke on a mission they'd completed together. Songbird didn't understand what she was doing wrong. Maybe she would've if she was a person, but she was becoming increasingly aware just how different she and people were. This particular thought drew her gaze to Crown Shade, who was standing away from the table in complete silence, just staring at them. Songbird felt a strange kinship with Shade, both of them were somewhat alien to most people. She hadn't really considered what she thought about Warforged, they were new and exciting and frightening, but she thought she mostly felt sorry for them. It was a terrible thing to be born into a world at war, with their only purpose being to kill. They were considered weapons more than people by most.

Songbird could relate to that. She hoped the 'forged would be okay when the war ended. She couldn't imagine it would be easy for them.

Songbird's thoughts drifted to those who weren't with them today, out there on missions somewhere. Crown Moonlight would be deep undercover somewhere, though Songbird wasn't privy to such information. She'd be fine, she was an expert in the art of infiltration (even if she'd been doing it for a much shorter time than Songbird had), and Songbird looked forward to hearing the story when she eventually returned.

That was Songbird's favourite part. She loved hearing the stories all of them told when they got back from their missions, even if she could tell when they were exaggerating the truth. Spectre and Shade never exaggerated, they told things exactly how they happened and in exacting detail. Shard almost always exaggerated, but often downplayed the collateral damage that occurred as a result of her inventions. Drop was always captivating to listen to, she knew what made a story interesting to listen to even if it meant the truth got a bit stretched, and Songbird always loved listening to her reports. Wolf was interesting, she would exaggerate for dramatic effect, but never did so if a mission went poorly.

Songbird had been so lost in thought that she hadn't realised she was smiling until Wolf made eye contact and smiled back, asking her what she was thinking about.

"Oh, it's just...it's just nice. Seeing you all together, content if not happy. You deserve these quiet moments."

"You do, too, Songbird," Flame responded, "not just us. You're one of us too."

And she actually believed it, too. When had that happened? Things had been good for a while now. Songbird hadn't lost any close friends for years, and she almost never failed her assignments, though Cyre had also largely avoided any large scale conflicts for some time. When had she allowed these people to get so close? It had happened gradually over years of working together, failing and succeeding together.

Maybe this was a sign that the war was coming to a close. Songbird hoped so.

She hoped the war ended soon.

Another show, another audience that failed to move her. Luca had taken to watching the actors perform her plays, hopeful that their performances could rouse something within her. Or perhaps she hoped that the audience reaction could stir her from this stupor.

They could not. She pondered, again, if she was the problem. People loved her plays, she was the talk of Sharn, they spoke of how she grappled with difficult themes, explored concepts and ideas that were on everyone's minds as the war drew to some kind of conclusion. She wasn't a person, though, and though the act of writing brought her some measure of relief, the performances didn't.

It didn't matter. All of her friends were dead. Her country was gone. Her queen was...

She walked into her office, and found the window open and a man waiting in it. The grief was carved into his face, it had changed him, just as it had changed her.

"Songbird." the man greeted her.

"Spectre."

Neither person spoke immediately. Luca shut the door behind her and began to fidget with her desk.

"How did you find me?"

"I'm very good at what I do, Songbird. How did you survive?"

She turned to look at him again, to take in the details. His eyes weren't how she remembered them, they used to be so warm. It was like his flame had gone out. It had, she supposed.

"I had no other choice," she responded, closing her eyes and pushing down the memory that threatened to surface. She had been in Metrol on the Day of Mourning, she'd seen the devastation like no one else could have. That wasn't really what Spectre wanted from her, though, she could see that. "Flame is gone. I'm sorry, Spectre."

Spectre's hand went to the ring he wore hanging from his neck. "I have mourned them."

No, he hadn't. Luca hadn't either. Luca wasn't sure she'd ever stop mourning Whisper Flame. Spectre moved into the room, his feet padding silently on the ground, like a cat. "Spectre died with Flame. I'm someone else now—Avenger North. I found the others- the other survivors. Cyre may be gone, but there is still a memory we can fight for, still a people to protect, and Avenge."

Luca watched him approach, listened to him speak. She could feel where this was going, but she couldn't even muster anxiety.

"I’ve been wanting a more dedicated Avenger for Lower Sharn, and we could use your help at the meeting at Thronehold next-"

"North." she responded, her voice soft. "Stop."

He did, both his words and his approach, as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"I am done."

"What?"

"I am done." There was more bite in that last syllable than she intended, colder than she meant. "I'm done watching you die. I'm done trying to change it."

North's hands curled into fists. Luca wondered if he was about to strike her. She thought she probably deserved it.

"Done?" he bit back, and Luca imagined his words carving a channel through her skin. "You're just done? You just quit? I need you, Songbird! We-"

"Songbird is as dead as Spectre."

She couldn't muster the emotion to match North's energy, and she could see it disquieted him. "You'll all die in the end, Spectre. And none of it will matter. I am done pretending otherwise."

A moment's hesitation, and then North was in her face, almost nose to nose. Eyes that were once familiar but now alien made contact, and Luca felt something stir in her chest. She wanted to look away, she couldn't face his scrutiny, but she could never have done it.

"They are not dead yet. Not all of them. Cyre may be gone, but there are still Cyrans, and they are vulnerable, they are a people without a nation, and Oargev is doing his best but there is an entire people of problems and no country to help fix them. They need us. Help me give them something we have lost our chance at."

"No." Her voice was ice. She wanted to explain herself, but she couldn't. She couldn't make the words come out. She was still looking into his eyes, saw the change in them.

"Did you ever care about us at all, Syara?"

Luca could've sworn she heard a sound like glass breaking as North's words tore through her chest. She whispered softly, but he didn't wait for her response, he was already out the window.

"Yes. That was my great mistake..."

Emotion welled up, threatened to overtake her. She tried to suppress a sob, but it came out anyway, pathetic and small. Luca hadn't shed a tear since the Day of Mourning, but she cried today. She cried for Spectre. She cried for Flame. She was overwhelmed, her apathy replaced with pain, with regret, with guilt. She picked up her pillow and she screamed into it, but it wasn't enough to hold back the flood of memories.

It had been her fault.

It was late on the 23rd of Sypheros when Charlie knocked on Luca's door. They'd been here only earlier today, when Luca had told Yashira that someone had been scoping out her office. Luca wasn't expecting a visit.

"Come in, Charlie"

Charlie entered the room, closing the door gently behind him. "We need to talk."

Luca was uneasy, what was going on? She put her quill down on the desk, giving her warlock her full attention. "Yeah...sure. What's going on?"

"We found a dwarf in an alleyway that saw you outside, and may have fainted. Do you know anything about that?"

Saw her outside? Luca hadn't been outside today. She wasn't really sure what she'd done today, in fact, she'd been lost in her reverie.

"No."

"Is there anyone else in the city that may have similar powers to you? I hate to ask, but shit's getting weird."

Luca thought about it, tried to recall all of the noteworthy individuals she was aware of in the city, but none that were similar to herself. As far as she knew, she was the only eladrin of her strength in the city.

"I don't think so."

She could feel the suspicion emanating from Charlie, and something else. He was holding something back, but was mentally preparing himself to say it. Something that was causing him a great deal of anxiety, which in turn caused a swelling of energy in Luca's chest.

"It's an awful coincidence that you put on Fallen Angels, after not having it on show in a while, and now I'm rooting out a Radiant Idol."

He was hunting an Idol?

She knew that, though she didn't know it. She'd been ruminating on that play, on the nature of the corruption that could take hold of beings of pure good and warp them into something sinister and evil. When she'd written the play, she hadn't actually been thinking about angels, though.

But she'd been thinking about it recently, both as a reflection of herself, and because she'd felt the presence. It was too close, it would eventually feel her too and root her out. Sharn had the highest density of radiant idols anywhere on Khorvaire, but that still only equated to maybe five or six of them at any given time. They just couldn't tolerate sharing so little space.

And if they couldn't tolerate each other, there wasn't a chance in Khyber they'd tolerate Luca. She wanted to give Charlie a straight answer, a person would've, but Luca Syara wasn't a person. She was bound to the narrative, and in this moment the narrative demanded that she be cryptic, that she avoid the question. It wouldn't be satisfying to just give him the answer, to tell him where the Idol was and what it was capable of.

Regardless of how much she wanted to.

"Is that right?"

It was a poor deflection, and it got a reaction of Charlie immediately. He was disappointed in her, maybe even angry. He sighed and took in a deep breath, before sitting down. He wasn't looking at her anymore.

"I don't know whether you know, because I don't know what you see when you check in on me, but I've been learning necromancy. I don't want to have any secrets from you. I should've told you before and I didn't. I'm sorry."

Luca looked away too, suddenly finding the grain of her desk very interesting. Her eyes had gone wide, images dancing behind them. She saw Karrnathi Undead soldiers terrorising Cyran soldiers, remaining on their feet far past the point where any mortal soldier would have surrendered or perished. She saw vampires slaughtering her squadmates, leaving her alone again.

She saw that fucking dwarf and his stupid fucking mask.

But none of this was Charlie's fault.

"I don't...see how that's any of my business"

And it wasn't. She had no right to dictate what Charlie could or couldn't learn, nor how he spent his time. She already knew what he'd been doing, but the study of necromancy and the relationship it represented for Charlie was clearly filling a void that Luca wasn't. She couldn't begrudge him that.

"Have I done something wrong, Luca? Something is weird. You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you? You would tell me."

Luca could feel it welling up to the surface, threatening to burst the dam and fill the world in choking mist. She'd been thinking about it a lot recently. Who she was, who she used to be. What she'd done.

She looked up again and made eye contact, and almost recoiled as her presence hit Charlie.

"Charlie, of anyone, you would be the person I would tell."

But she couldn't tell anyone. Tears began to stream down Charlie's face as he got to his feet, took two steps, and pulled Luca into an embrace. Various fluids were leaking from his face, but Luca didn't pay any heed to them soaking into her coat.

"I don't know what's going on with this radiant idol, but I'm going to find out. If there's something else that can do what you can, I need to find it. I don't you to get in trouble."

"It doesn't do the same thing that I can."

"What?"

"It doesn't make people sad," like she did.

"It doesn't take away their hope," like she did.

"It doesn't ruin...well, I suppose it does ruin lives, but not in the same way," that she did.

Charlie hugged her tighter.

"Don't talk about yourself like that. I have hope, and part of that is from you. You can't take that away. Even if I have got snot all over your jacket. Like I said, I'm gonna sort this. I just wanted to check."

He pulled away from her, and turned to walk away, but she grabbed his sleeve. She didn't deserve this, his care, she wasn't sure what she'd done to earn it. She thought about the last person to care about her like this, and she almost choked again.

"Charlie, be careful. A radiant idol is a serious threat."

"I know, but I have the team, and a Sarhain who is a lot, but they're good. If she can punch the angel like she punched the dwarf in the alleyway we'll be fine."

Luca wasn't so sure of that, herself. If she could have, she'd have eliminated the angel herself.

But such a show of power would gather attention, from forces that she couldn't afford.

"Okay. I'm...I'm sorry I can't help more."

She was one of the most powerful individuals in Sharn, and yet she was powerless to actually do anything. There was no point. Charlie and his friends were going to die, and she couldn't change it.

She could never change it. They always died.

They always died, and she was always left alone.

Charlie could sense her spiral, and he tried to tell a joke, but she didn't get it. She probably would've if she'd been a person.

"...what?"

He sighed, and went out the door. Luca mumbled a quiet apology under her breath.

If only she'd been a person.

Metrol was under siege. The forces of Karrnath were at the gates, and to the west the combined forces of Breland and Thrane were fighting Cyre's forces at the Saerun Road, a battlefield that would later come to be known as the Field of Ruin.

A war council had gathered in the throne room in the Palace Vermishard. Queen Dannel sat on her throne overseeing the affair, the young Princess Marhya by her side. Dannel always did involve her children, she felt it was important they knew the ugly realities of both ruling and war. Glove Songbird couldn't help but see the narrative parallel, how Dannel herself had been thrust into power when she was just seventeen. She was preparing her own children for such an eventuality, though she lived for far longer than her father had.

Songbird had watched Dannel grow into the queen she had become, from that scared, sensitive teenager to this ruthless monarch. She often found herself wondering where it had gone wrong, if there was something she could have said or done to change Dannel's course. The realities of war were brutal, and Songbird couldn't judge Dannel too much for the ways they had changed her. They had changed Songbird, too.

Marhya was talking quietly to Whisper Flame, examining a map of Khorvaire. Flame had been the leader of the Silken Whispers for years now, and those responsibilities had drawn them away from the field. They'd taken to the role, however. Perhaps better than Glove Spectre had since he had promoted to lead Cyran Espionage as a whole.

Songbird should've been out in the field, doing something more productive, but with the multiple forces invading Cyre at once, Spectre had given her the role of protecting the royal family. Oargev had been sent to Breland on a diplomatic mission, even as Breland was invading his own country. The politics of it made Songbird's head swim, why couldn't it be clearer? Who were the heroes, and the villains? This was one of the things she had struggled with the most since she joined the war effort. Things just weren't black and white like they were in the stories. Good people did bad things in service of pointless causes, because they believed in them, because they had no other choice. Because other people would do evil unto them if they didn't do it first.

It was exhausting.

Songbird had grown increasingly concerned with Dannel's approach to the war over the last few years. Something had changed in her after Prince Brusst had died, she became colder, more ruthless. There had always been iron within her, and the last years of the war had peeled back the skin to reveal that iron underneath. Songbird didn't like what she saw. Dannel was proud, and had become obsessed with victory, convinced that no cost was too great if it meant destroying their enemies.

It had been the source of most of their arguments.

Baron Starrin d'Cannith arrived, arms full of sheafs of paper. Blueprints, Songbird assumed. The Great Gorgon had been overseeing the latest project for Cyre's war machine, the Warforged Colossi. Songbird hated the warforged colossi. They were too powerful, a weapon that threatened to change the face of the war, that could decimate entire armies on their own. Several of them had already been deployed within Cyre, repelling the Karrnathi invasion, and tearing up the land in the process. It was everything Songbird hated about the war, a complete disregard for collateral damage, distilled into a single weapon. It was the kind of tool you deployed when you wanted to flatten a city and kill everyone in it.

And it was Cyre that was fielding them. Dannel and Starrin were not discussing their plans for turning these walking atrocities against Breland and Thrane, once the Karrnathi siege was broken. There was one operational colossus in Metrol, Colossus WX-5, turning its deadly sights on the invaders as they spoke. It would save countless Cyran lives, but where did it end? Once it had broken the siege, would they set it loose on Karrnath's cities? How many innocent people would lose their lives?

Songbird knew better than to question this while the council was in session. She would need to wait until she could speak to the queen privately to raise her concerns. She knew how it would go though, they had tread this ground many times before. Dannel would say she was listening, would let Songbird say her piece, and then nothing would change. Songbird could never change anything. She was bound to the same story beats she'd always been bound to.

And people would die as a result. They always did. Songbird couldn't save anyone, and her efforts to do so only seemed to make things worse.

The War Council was interrupted by the shattering of windows as figures in metal half-masks vaulted through them and rapelled into the room. Songbird and Flame both exploded into motion to engage the threat, as the Queen's Guard rushed to form a protective circle around Dannel, Marhya, Starrin, and the generals. Several of the assailants were pelted with crimson fire before they hit the ground, but there were a lot of them.

A flick of the wrist summoned the double-bladed scimitar from Songbird's gloves of storing, and she began a dance of wide, sweeping motions to create space and keep the assassins away from Flame. They were outnumbered, but Songbird was supernaturally fast, and she was doing a passable job of keeping herself between the enemy and her friend. She recognised the iconography, agents of the Order of the Emerald Claw. Karrns.

She got a spike of anxiety as she scanned them for a familiar physique, but the dwarf wasn't here. Good. She could probably deal with these.

The moment's distraction was a mistake, and she got cut along the top of her right arm. She winced, it hurt so much more than it should have, and the wound immediately began to burn. Their weapons were poisoned, of course they were.

"Careful Flame, poison."

"Got it."

Songbird performed a spinning parry, deflecting the weapons of three assassins, before cartwheeling backwards towards Flame. Flame instinctively dropped into a crouch, rounding their back and providing Songbird with a platform to spring from and kick another assassin in the face, before whirling around and slashing another across the chest. With Songbird now out of the way, Flame conjured a small mote of flame and sent it into the middle of the three assassins that their companion had just staggered, which promptly erupted into a fiery explosion.

The flames made their way back to Flame, coalescing around them and forming a pair of hellish wings across their back and a set of claws from their fingers. Songbird had only seen her do this a couple of times, but the situation was dire and they needed to thin out the enemy before they got through the Queen's Guard. The poison on their weapons would wear the guard down before long.

Flame's activated state might've been an issue for them, years ago, as Songbird would have to contend with avoiding the fire as well as the enemy, but they'd done this dance enough times now that they knew how to move around each other. Songbird instinctively ducked to avoid a stream of fire that Flame had cracked like a whip, tearing the helmet from one of the assassins and scorching their face. They didn't scream, as one would expect, and their dead eyes making contact with Songbird's revealed the reason why. That complicated things, but the dead burned just as well as the living. Sometimes better.

With a whistle, Songbird conjured two identical copies of herself all arrayed in a triangle around Flame. They were illusions, but Songbird had always had a way with those and they were more real than not. The four of them had begun trying to make their way towards the queen and her protectors, but the Emerald Claw had really committed to this assassination attempt. Would Cyran Espionage ever have deployed so many agents for one mission? It seemed a frightfully inefficient allocation of resources.

But then again, the Order of the Emerald Claw knew what she was, or at least they had a pretty solid idea. It finally clicked, what they'd hit her with. Mordril essence. Extraordinarily expensive, obtained only from Aerenal or Farlnen and infused with the energy of Mabar. The kind of toxin you'd use when you wanted to make absolutely sure that something died, enough so to procure it at 3,000 gp per dose. As far as Songbird could tell, every single one of these assassins had laced their weapons with it. Utterly overkill. Unless, of course, you weren't just trying to kill people.

With this realisation came the other, that the assassins actually weren't targetting Dannel with any real fervour. They were swarming around Songbird and Flame, and though the pair had done an admirable job of holding them off, they were losing ground. They'd started to try and get to Dannel, but the assassins had begun to corral them in the other direction. Two managed to lock Songbird into melee, and she was struggling to keep them off of her with the double-bladed scimitar. They were undead, and weren't worried about any injuries she might deliver with the weapon, so they weren't backing off from her wider swings.

With a twist, she separated the two blades into two swords, allowing her to more ably deflect their attacks. These two were good, and though she wasn't versed enough in the types of undead that Karrnath fielded, they certainly weren't mindless. Sovereigns, she hated fighting undead, hated fighting anything that didn't have the good sense to be hurt when she hit them. She parried a stab from the assassin to her left, kicking out at the one on her right and taking their knee out from under them. She moved to finish them while they were down, but the other cut her across the ribs.

She'd been hit several times now, and though she was still faster than they were, she was slowing down. The mordril essence was making its way through her body, and she had no idea what it could actually do to her. Regardless, she could withstand it better than Flame would be able to if they got her. Songbird delivered a brutal stomp to the assassin she'd took down, causing stale, congealed blood and bits of skull to spray out in all directions. If any of the Queen's Guard were paying attention, that might've raised some eyebrows.

She twisted and drove the pommel of one of her scimitars into the cheekbone of the other assassin, caving both their helmet and their skull in. If they wanted to cheat, she would too. She'd managed to create some space around her, enough to take in the current situation. Flame was surrounded but her flames were keeping them back, the Queen's Guard were fighting a smaller force but were losing.

Songbird threw her scimitars at the assassins fighting the Queen's Guard, both weapons whirling through the air and then beginning to dance around their opponents, fighting without Songbird's direct involvement. That left her without a weapon, but she didn't really need one. As the scimitars hit one group, Songbird hit the other, putting her hand through a Karrns chest and throwing them to the ground. She took a hit to the forearm, a burning line traced down her ulna, and she repaid it with a flat hand to the throat. They went down, gasping. Some of the assailants were undead, but not all of them.

It was extraordinarily reckless, to charge into combat with highly trained assassins armed with envenomed weapons whilst wielding nothing to defend herself. She was lethal with just her body, but it didn't matter if she couldn't stop them from cutting her. She had to recall her scimitars, and she did so, watching one of them scalp an assassin as it flew back to her hands. She stood with both hands out ready to catch them, and they landed hilt first in her grasp.

Then she dropped them, as a mordril essence laced dagger plunged into her gut. She hunched forward with a gasp, arms closing around her attacker as if to pull a lover into an embrace, and then she twisted them with a sound that made her stomach turn. She fell to one knee, recovering her scimitars in time to parry another blade, and then used the momentum of her pushing herself back to her feet to slice off the arm of the assassin that had just attacked her.

Flame whistled, and Songbird instinctively dived to get clear of whatever was coming. The entire throne room lit up as a pillar of crimson fire erupted from floor to ceiling, the heat of it singing Songbird's back even though she'd gotten out of the way. It was an awesome display of magical strength, as if Flame had summoned the very fires of Fernia into the room with them and set them on her opponents. When the pillar dissolved, there was nothing left of those caught in it save for ashes.

There was only one assassin left, rushing at Flame to try and put a stop to the unholy terror that had just eviscerated their companions. They weren't prepared to follow through, Flame heard them coming and whirled around, plunging long claws into their chest and then incinerating them from within. The Queen's Guard seemed to have pulled through, taking advantage of the distraction provided by Flame's arcane might to put down their own assailants.

Flame made eye contact with Songbird, smiled, and then collapsed.

Songbird dropped her weapon and sprinted to Flame's prone form, cast aside on the floor of the throne room. She skidded on her knees, patting her fallen friend down with her hands and looking for the wounds. She found them, much the same as her own, and so she knew full well what they had delivered.

"No no no no no no, not you, Flame, not you. Please."

Flame gave Songbird a weak smile, blood staining their face. "We can't win em all, Song"

Tears mixed with blood, adding salt to copper. Songbird had discarded her mask, though she wasn't sure when she'd done so. Maybe she'd lost it in the fight, maybe she'd thrown it off when the fight was over. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She'd lost so many people over the years, so many friends, but Flame had beaten the odds for so long that Songbird had forgotten their fragility. Flame had been a load bearing pillar in Songbird's life for decades now, and she could feel the walls coming down around her.

Shadows had begun to gather around Flame, shadows that felt eerily familiar to Songbird. The realisation hit her and she breathed out an involuntary "how dare you".

Flame's face scrunched up in confusion. "What?"

"She's taking advantage of your weakness, she's trying to take you again."

"Ah." Flame's eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "That bitch." They were getting weaker with every moment, every beat of their heart spreading the Mordril essence through their body. The cowards, even though they'd won the fight it would make no difference. Flame's eyes reopened, and whatever they saw in Songbird's made theirs open a little wider.

"She can't have you."

"I don't think you can stop her, Song."

Songbird's insides were a chaotic soup of conflicting emotions and the mordril poison in her own veins. Her need to save her friend wrestled with her desire to conceal herself and avoid the attention of archfey like the Lady in Shadow, and keeping herself alive. She made a decision, perhaps one she would later come to regret.

"Flame, I've lied to you. I'm not who you think I am."

Flame smiled again. "May've put some of that together, Lia."

Songbird shook her head. "No, you don't understand. Lia isn't my name. I'm not an elf, Flame. I'm from Thelanis. I've been to her court, and she will know me if I intervene, but she cannot have you."

Flame stared into her eyes for several uncomfortable seconds before answering. "Lia, if that's true, you need to live. You're a thousand times more important than me."

"No, please don't say things like that. Flame, you're important to me."

Songbird began to softly whistle a tune as she fought back the sobs and the tearing sensation in her abdomen where she'd been stabbed, soothing the shadows that had begun gathering around her friend.

"Songbird."

Songbird's attention was ripped away from Flame by the voice of Queen Dannel, clutching at a wound in her abdomen.

"Your duty is to your queen. Leave Whisper Flame, she knew the risks." Her voice was steady, with only the slightest hint of the pain she had to be in.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

"I will forgive this momentary lapse in decorum, Songbird, but I must insist."

Songbird screamed, and the remaining windows shattered. Dannel looked unsure of herself for the first time in years as she took a step back. Marhya cowered behind Starrin.

"A queen exists to serve her people, Dannel! Why are you deserving of life more than Flame!?"

As she spoke, her voice grew in volume and came out almost like a growl, like a wounded animals final warning. Power was gathering in the sound, an undercurrent of energy that crackled like ozone.

"I have given you everything, my queen. I've been beside you for your entire life, I've spent centuries trying to be worthy. Worthy of the cause, worthy of Cyre, worthy of the people around me, while you've been slipping further and further into something evil. We've sacrificed so much for you, and it's never enough, because any true Cyran would gladly throw away everything for your stupid fucking war."

Rising. Rising. Reaching a crescendo.

"So much time trying to be worthy of you. When will you be worthy of ME!?"

She screamed it, and something snapped inside of her with a sound like the shattering of the windows moments before. A flash of light, an explosion, and Songbird was thrown heavily into a nearby pillar with a sickening crunch. Dark, grey mist had filled the throne room and was spreading out of the windows she had smashed, and she swore she could see faces within it crying. The sky was churning in hews of orange and red that were so bright they threatened to blind her, as if someone had reached up to the heavens and set them on fire.

And that sound, the shattering of glass, over and over again. As if all of the windows in the world had been smashed, and the pieces were being crunched into the ground by the boots of the Sovereigns. A shockwave had emanated from somewhere in Metrol toppling the warforged colossus and demolishing the buildings in its path. The mist was moving fast, in the moments since Songbird had been thrown from her feet, it had already covered most of the city.

What in Khyber had just happened?

Had she done this?

Songbird reached her hand out towards Flame, locked eyes with her friend, and the look of fear in them broke Songbird's heart. Then she lost consciousness as the mordril poison did its work.

Songbird was alone when she awoke. She had no concept of how long she'd been out for, mordril poison was potent and she'd taken multiple doses. It was surprising that it had worked on her at all, but something had felt different about it. She slowly got to her feet, wincing as she reopened her wounds, and looked around. The throne room was in ruin, the roof had partially collapsed and taken some of the wall with it. It gave her a good vantage point to view the rest of the city.

Metrol was gone, in every way that mattered. Where the crown jewel of Galifar had once stood was now rubble. The colossus was slumped against one of the Vermishards, so the disaster had done enough damage to destroy it, not just knock it down. Was this an attack by another nation? Songbird couldn't see anybody moving, no Karrns had swarmed the city.

Dannel wasn't here. Flame wasn't here. There was no sign of any of the people that had been in the room before everything went to Khyber.

Songbird was alone, again. Everything hit her all at once. She had failed again, her friends had died again. There was no point to anything she had done, every time she had compromised on her morals for the good of the cause, it had meant nothing. It didn't save anyone.

Flame had still died. Dannel had still died.

She let it all out, a raw, brutal sound that caused another section of the palace roof to give up and fall.

Why did she always have to survive? Why was she always the only one left?

It hadn't been long since Charlie and his friends had come to see her to ask about the models, and Luca'd been unable to help them despite knowing what they needed to do, and where they needed to go. She'd been aware of the Radiant Idol for weeks, since it had subverted the Phiarlan woman and taken over her art gallery. She had just been unable to do anything about it, she couldn't confront the angel herself without revealing herself to the Lords of Dust or worse, the archfey of the Moonlit Vale.

And now Charlie and his friends were going to die, or be subverted by the angel themselves. The thought stirred something in her, but not enough to truly disturb her ennui and spur her to action. It did cause a degree of anxiety though, a feeling that Luca Syara absolutely despised. It was bad enough that she felt the need to reach out through her bond, but she hesitated. She wanted to respect his privacy.

But she knew where they were going, and what they were going to do, and like watching a lightning rail disconnect from the conductor stones, she couldn't bear to look away. So she sat at her desk, closed her eyes, and cast her awareness through her bond with Charlie. She'd never had a warlock before, so she was learning how the pact worked at the same time that he was, but she'd learned how to do this fairly early on. She could always kind of feel him, at least she could feel when he was in danger or in pain, and she was alerted if he specifically called out to her, even mentally.

Like he had done at Fort Bones.

But she also found that if she focused on that awareness, she could feel more of what he was going through. She couldn't really see or hear what was going on, but she could feel how Charlie was feeling, and sometimes she could hear what he was thinking if his thoughts were particularly loud. Right now, he was anxious, and that feeling was slowly building. She didn't think they had arrived at the art gallery yet, it hadn't been too long since he left her office. It was getting worse, though.

He was worried that they wouldn't be able to fix this.

He was worried that somebody could die.

He was worried that they would go to prison.

And he was worried that he'd never get to say things he'd left unsaid.

Luca knew these feelings all too well, and she'd carried them for over a century. Charlie was putting on a brave face, though. He was keeping it together. That was more than Luca could say of her own experiences.

She assumed they had broken into the gallery based on the spike of anxiety and then relief she felt from Charlie. He had also drawn on her magic, which was likely connected. She took in a deep breath, the danger had truly begun now.

What in Khyber was the Mountainsoul, and why did she feel longing for it?

That wasn't her emotion, it was Charlie's. Luca didn't like it.

They must've been in the gallery by now, then. Some kind of magical trap maybe. Surely it was nothing that Charlie or his friends wouldn't be able to handle. They'd been through worse.

She loosened her attention on Charlie, keeping the connection open enough to still get a vague sense of his state but allowing her to focus on other things. She picked up her quill and continued to write, nothing good, nothing worth publishing, but she'd found that the act of putting pen to paper soothed her even if she had no intention of sharing it. Creation was simply in her blood, and writing even more so.

She hadn't written any music for a while, perhaps she should pick up the-

Terror. She got a flash of an image, of a screaming Damien blinking in and out of existence in the arms of some great, terrible tree made of stone. A grieving tree? In an art gallery? What kind of gallery was this?

Charlie channeled that terror into action, and summoned a suit of icy armour to encase Damien and protect him from the exsanguinating spikes of the tree. Luca felt a flash of approval, that was clever. Then she lost focus on the scene, and found herself once again staring at the page in front of her.

Where she'd written down everything she'd seen. That was interesting.

The chemical soup that was fear had calmed down, giving Luca the scope to gnaw at the edge of her anxiety without it consuming her completely. She'd failed so many times to save the people around her, even when she'd been physically present to do so, and feeling so strongly that her loved ones were going to die again when she wasn't even there was threatening to throw her down a spiral.

She was broken out of it several minutes later as she felt the angel. Charlie managed to stay only peripherally aware of it for a while, but at some point he'd entered the room with it and-

How dare they!?

Luca was shocked by the uncharacteristic rush of emotion that had filled her chest, something alien to her, something awful and possessive and fey. The radiant upstart had attempted to stake a claim on her warlock. On her Charlie.

How dare they!?

She focused in on the connection again, finding herself more fully present in the room than she'd managed previously, and she beheld the Idol. Shining and brilliant, a being of stained glass and prismatic light, and Charlie had been fully enveloped in its aura of false divinity. Luca flexed through the pact, and the angel's charm shattered like she'd thrown a brick through it.

It was so easy to do. Had she always been this powerful?

The angel felt it too. Its eyes widened in shock at her proclamation, and the incandescent fuck tried to negotiate.

"I am not unreasonable. Who are you people and what do you want?"

"You can't keep doing this to people!"

"Doing what?"

"Why did you do it? Why did you kill Wroen?" Yashira interjected, earning a puzzled look from the angel that would ultimately be its undoing.

"Who?"

"You don't even know her name? You have all of her art in the gallery, and you don't even know her name?"

"I have so many adoring followers." The angel was flippant, too detatched.

Yashira's response was beautiful, almost like something Luca herself would write in her plays.

"You didn't even know her name! She loved lavendar! I only have it in my apartment because of her! She loved going to the lake, there was a little nestle in the garden where she was calm. She told me she was going to save up and go to an academy, become a famous artist. She finally thought she'd got her big break, with you and this gallery, and the last thing I saw of her was her looking into my eyes with fear before she died. Why!? What did she do that was so wrong in your eyes!?"

"She was going to talk."

"And what's stopping you from doing that again in the future? What's our guarantee? Why should you be able to roam and hurt the people of my city, the people I love and care about."

"Absolutely nothing."

"I am not a fool, I can tell when we're outmatched. But I can't stand to let you live. I'd sooner destroy myself than let someone like you live in my city."

It was inspiring, almost enough to stir something in Luca's chest as she watched it all unfold. It had an impact on Chantalyn, too, and seemed to snap her out of the angel's influence.

"Wait, no, Yashira's right, this isn't right! It's not that you're doing it to people, it's that you're locking it all away! None of this belongs to you! These models belong to themselves! And like, this is wrong. Astalur, this is wrong! Why are you doing this, I thought we had something special!?"

Astalur could see the tide turning against them as surely as Luca could, but just as Yashira knew they were outmatched, so did the angel. There would be no negotiation, the angel would be extinguished today. Even if Charlie and his friends failed, Astalur knew too much and couldn't be allowed to persist.

The angel conjured a sword from magic paint, and the battle began. Chantalyn was first into the fray, and watching her fight was a wonder. She used her sword with the careful confidence of someone who was utterly sure of their abilities and could back it up. It shifted her in Luca's estimation, she knew that the Silver Blight was a war hero but she'd never encountered her directly, and you can never really trust war stories that spread widely.

There was some truth to these ones, though, that much was clear. Despite Chantalyn's prowess, however, Astalur was warded against harm and she wasn't making any headway. They slapped her with their palette, and glowing paint adhered itself to her face and the angel declared, devastating, "ugly."

Chantalyn recoiled. This idol was very much her foil, in an almost poetic way. Like they were made for each other, to contrast each other, and to ultimately destroy each other.

She was providing enough of a distraction that the angel, and Luca, failed to notice Ruckus charge in and clamp down on its leg with the gnarly-looking bear trap he'd attached to the arm of his exoskeleton. Luca found herself flinching, even though she wasn't even there. Nerys and Ban had also entered the room, and the former had begun reciting a story laced with magic that was lifting their companions spirits. It wasn't a story Luca recognised, but she quickly realised that Nerys was telling the story of this encounter, and writing a hopeful ending. Just as Luca had done before, but she never did seem to land the "hopeful" part.

Ban fell under the angel's influence. Luca couldn't see what he saw, but whatever it was, he was head over heels for it. Astalur's voice, like crackling glass under foot to Luca's ears, told Ban to save him from these horrible people that were trying to hurt him. Charlie and Yashira acted before that could really become a problem, however.

Charlie had begun to cast a spell, an expression of his magic that as far as Luca knew, he hadn't tried to do before. He was conjuring a localised, explosive blizzard, like a fireball of blistering cold. He almost ruined the moment with a pun.

"I'm just gonna let all hail break loose!"

The angel fucking chuckled, which just made Luca more indignant. She was curious, and somewhat angry, so she flexed power through the connection again and was just as shocked as Charlie was at the results. The explosion was monstrously powerful, it stripped away all of Astalur's wards and flash froze them damn near solid.

Yashira had been blinded, before her speech? Luca hadn't seen it happen. Despite this, she climbed the angel's back as it recoiled from the cold, and started wildly stabbing it in the head, neck, and shoulders. This wasn't the first time that Yashira had gone feral in a fight recently.

Chantalyn, wreathed in silver fire, was once again face to face with the angel as it largely ignored Yashira's frantic stabbing. It made eye contact with her, and she seemed to be getting drawn back into it, the silver of her flames beginning to bleed colours that hadn't been present before. Yashira broke her out of it, yelling "Finish it! For Wroen!"

Chantalyn came back to herself, and thrust her sword through the angel's chest, shattering the ice that had formed there. Steam was rising from the wound as the ice and fire competed for dominance, and Chantalyn topped the moment by yelling "If I had something cool to say, I would!"

Luca was privy to the cascade of energy that emanated from the angel, which must've looked a lot to the others like it had just exploded. The paintings around the room began to glow, and Luca found her attention waning now that the immediate danger had been dealt with. She'd see them all soon enough, and they were relatively safe.

They were alive. The rest could be dealt with.

Luca surprised everybody, none more so than herself, when she arrived at the theatre that was hosting Chantalyn's fashion show and requested a ticket. The show had been sold out weeks ago, of course, but Luca so rarely made public appearances and seemingly the entire city craved them. They found a seat for her, in a booth away from the crowds, but conspicuously visible enough that everybody would know she was here.

She didn't like that, but it was better than not being present at all.

Naturally, all of Chantalyn's models were in no fit state to perform in her show. Tanum had been poisoned and was still recovering. Linden had been punched in the face by Chantalyn and had a black eye, which wouldn't do. The others had all been kidnapped by the Idol, and though they had been rescued, the psychic feedback of the angel's death had left them all traumatised and suffering.

Luckily, Charlie and his friends just happened to have similar physique's to all of the models. As if it had been written that way.

Damien was first onto the catwalk, wearing a crop-cuirass that perfectly highlighted his abdominal muscles. Luca found herself puzzled by it, what good was armour that left most of the vital organs completely exposed? Was there a movement advantage? This had been a solved problem significantly before the start of the Last War.

Yashira came out in an admittedly very pretty asymmetrical gambeson, with a single armoured arm and gauntlet, which seemed fairly practical to Luca until she turned around at the end of the catwalk and revealed that the gambeson was backless. Luca supposed an argument could be made that if you're trying to outfit a unit cheaply, they would ideally not be threatened from behind and you could save resources by not armouring their backs, but in the chaos of melee anything could happen and this struck her as wildly irresponsible. To make matters worse, Yashira looked so uncomfortable in it that Luca struggled to imagine her fighting.

Nerys' outfit was equally impractical, but at least they were mostly covered! Luca couldn't understand what benefit armouring the pannier was serving, though. Most of that armour wasn't actually protecting anything, it was off to the sides, and it seemed like the whole thing was fairly difficult to move around in. There was also a lack of armour on the upper body, which was most likely to be threatened. The poor bard seemed to be struggling so hard to move in it, but they rocked the runway as well as the others had.

Ban seemed to be wearing the cut-out part of Damien's cuirass, with an archer's pauldron and a cowl covering his head, and armoured shinguards on his legs. It was a lot of exposed skin, but at least his body was mostly covered by the armour. He seemed comfortable at least, and he had no issues playing his role as the model.

Luca was perplexed by the concept of "fashion plate" that was on display in this show, she thought she'd understood fashion conceptually but mixing it with impractical armour hadn't really clicked for her yet. Combat was hell, and surely outfitting soldiers like this would result in more deaths?

This wasn't helped any by Ruckus' attire, as he came out in a dress with a cuirass, and an absurdly large pauldron on his right shoulder that held a see through veil over his arm. That couldn't be comfortable to walk around in, surely? The dress was hugging his legs tightly and restricting his movement, that was bad enough, but the pauldron seemed like it could topple the goblin at any moment.

He was such a fucking trooper, though.

Charlie was second to last. Luca's expectations had already been challenged by the others, but she couldn't have predicted Charlie's outfit if she'd been given 100 years to guess. He emerged from behind the curtain in what appeared to be a chainmail bikini, with long pink gloves and a see through veil around his hips, and pink leather high heels. It was extremely feminine, which suited him, but it was so completely impractical. It had clearly been made for a woman that was tall, and quite a bit more muscular than Charlie, but that meant it didn't look odd on his frame, and he'd used some of his tools for Trixi Towers to complete the look, filling out the top a bit.

Despite the impracticality, Luca almost cracked a smile. At least when he died horribly due to all of his vitals being completely exposed, he'd be putting on a show for ally and enemy alike. That just felt very Charlie, to her.

Chantalyn was the finale, and though she was radiant, her ensemble still wasn't overly practical. Was this all some kind of statement? A treatise on the futility of war, that we might as well expose ourselves to harm, as it won't change anything anyway? Luca wasn't sure, but she supposed that was also the point. Art is what we make of it.

She was wearing a kind of armoured ballgown, a pink corset connected to long scalemail tassets under a thin see-through satin skirt, framing a metal crinoline. Over the top she had a leather pauldron, and a single leather gauntlet on the same arm. It was more practical than some of the other outfits, and it was certainly the most protective ballgown that Luca had ever seen, but it still wouldn't hold up in any serious conflict.

What was the message? What was Chantalyn trying to convey through her art, these beautiful garments that brought to mind combat but lacked the mettle to really allow for it. Luca looked forward to seeing what others gleaned from it, she was sure that this line up would be talked about in the magazines and papers. She thought it was all an attempt to find beauty in a situation that was otherwise horrific.

And, Luca thought, we're all at our most dangerous when we're confident. Nothing communicates confidence in one's ability like a chainmail bikini, or an armoured ballgown.