Eshe knew there would be consequences for aiding Veronica. The situation in the palace was already precarious, and freeing the notoriously decisive noblewoman wasn’t going to lower tensions any. But they figured whatever happened would be relatively small-scale—Veronica would escape, there’d be a brief stir around the palace, and then everyone would move on. She was only a lone woman, after all. How much trouble could she really cause?

Now, as they stare at the burnt remains of Duke Berinni, Eshe is starting to think their earlier assessment may have been a little off. 

“Knights!” Laviny shouts, drawing his weapon. Eshe follows suit, startled into action by their Captain’s voice. “Stagger!” 

The knights form a loose star formation around their Captain, facing out and readying their mirror shields. They brace for another barrage from the Queen, but none comes—if anything, She seems the most caught off guard by what She’s just done. In the few seconds Her confusion affords, Laviny pulls a small sun orb from his satchel and utters a brief prayer. The orb comes to life at his words, growing large enough to barely fit in one hand and bright enough to cast stark shadows about the court.

“Lend me your eyes!” Laviny roars. 

Eshe and the other sun-knights look to the ground and turn their mirrored shields inward. Immediately, near-blinding reflected sunlight bounces around the room, forcing everyone else to cower and cover their faces. Laviny’s hands work to continuously mold and shift the orb, ensuring the dazzling patterns it creates are never consistent. 

“And sound the coming of dawn!”

All six members of the Order begin to stomp their metal boots against the floor in a carefully choreographed march, one designed to sound arrhythmic and unpredictable. The cacophony and dancing lights combined make focus all but impossible for those who do not have each sight and sound memorized. 

It is the March of Dawn, an essential ritual of the Order for disrupting enemy sorcery. 

The display snaps Queen Helena out of Her shock. “Is this how you hope to face me? Cheap parlor tricks? Fools. I have ruled this kingdom for centuries; I AM Arlunn!”

She raises her palms to the sky and the very foundations of reality begin to quake. All around them, the palace walls fade into an endless expanse of starlight, the physical world stretched to the point of transparency by the sheer volume of magic flowing out of the Queen. Primordial forces slam against the Order’s perimeter: howling winds of impossible cold, the crushing pressure of an entire ocean bearing down, and electric currents strong enough to leap up and arc against their shields.

But Eshe and their fellows remain steadfast in their faith, never hesitating in their movements for a single moment, and the barrier of sunlight around them holds.

“Forward!”

The knights march steadily toward the Queen, stepping in front of the other nobles.

“Come no further, or…or I’ll turn you to dust as well!” She shrieks, eyes shifting as the din of crashing metal boots makes it harder and harder for Her to focus on Her spells. The powers She wields become more sporadic and unpredictable; time and space itself seem to skip and jitter around Her like a tremolo note, distance between objects and people becoming blurrier in the endless void the court has become. 

Yet no matter how She tries to stretch and delay the Order’s advance, their march forward remains steady—they’ve locked in on exactly where and when they are, so much so that they know when to step up the now-invisible stairs separating the silver throne from the rest of the court. 

Once they do, Queen Helena’s face goes pale and Her focus breaks. She backs away from them, Her spells now fizzling entirely, only to trip on the corner of Her throne and be sent sprawling back onto Her elbows. “Fine! Do you think I need spells to crush upstarts like you? Don’t be foolish!”

The physical room becomes opaque once more as the Queen stops fruitlessly channeling Her sorcery. She lets out a sharp whistle instead, then scrambles backward until She bumps up against the curved wall of the court. “Die by the blade if you must, fools!”

Around the circumference of the room, automata burst through the entrances and rush to protect their creator. With their identical heights and precise movements, they appear as a unified wave of burly mass.

“On me! About face!” Laviny commands.

The knights tighten their formation around him and pivot to face the encroaching machines. From this direction, Eshe is now on point, staring down the impending assault. Swords will not penetrate the automata’s flesh; pain and exhaustion will not deter them. For all intents and purposes, they are undefeatable in battle.

But the Order has no intention of battling them.

The first of the machines bear down on the sun-knight, close enough that the irises of their dead eyes are visible. Eshe feels no fear. There isn’t enough time.

“Eshe, now!”

Eshe focuses on the presence of their fellow knights, hand-picked honest souls they’ve fought beside countless times. Their mutual trust steadies any wayward emotions while the vibrations of their stomping filter out needless thoughts, allowing Eshe to see and manipulate the fabric of creation. 

The spell they plan to use was birthed in part by their initial observations of the automata in the red room with Veronica. There, they noticed the machines were remarkably similar to marble statues both in appearance and substance—no doubt Helena wanted Her victims aesthetically consistent with Her palace. But with machine and palace alike made of similar material, a touch of magic can easily blur the line between the two…

Pulling and twisting on the threads of reality, Eshe unleashes their magic in a wide swath around them. The nearby automata stumble and falter as their feet melt into the floor, the marble beneath them churning and rippling like liquid. As one row falters, the next mindlessly charges past them into the trap themselves, until all the machines are at least partially stuck. Driven by their programming, they continue struggling and wading forward only to sink deeper still, almost as if they were in quicksand. When the automata in front reach the sun-knights, only their heads and shoulders are visible.

And then Eshe cancels the spell, and the marble becomes solid once more.

Errant limbs, heads, and torsos of automata jut out of the ground awkwardly as if part of some unnerving sculpture garden, jerking and twitching but unable to move. Queen Helena’s army of unkillable, perfectly obedient soldiers is stuck inside Her floor.

Human guards flood in behind them, but cannot reach the knights before Laviny strides over to the Queen and puts his blade against Her neck.

“Call them off.” 

The monarch looks up at him with eyes full of tears and contempt, Her purple gown dusty and tattered. “Vulture,” she spits.

Laviny doesn’t even blink. “Last chance. Three. Two. O—”

“Stop!”

The voice comes from behind them. Eshe turns to see Lady Francine stagger to her feet. 

“Stay your blade, Sir, lest you plunge our kingdom into war.” The spymaster turns to the royal guards. “And you lot, stand down. Don’t be stupid.” After a moment of hesitation, the guards lower their weapons and step back. Laviny, however, does not.

“Lieutenant. Restraints. In my satchel.”

Eshe steps forward and retrieves a thin length of chain and lock from the pack on Laviny’s hip. The metal numbs their fingers and sends a shiver up their spine when they touch it—imbued with a number of sorcery-restraining spells, no doubt. The fact that Laviny brought it to the meeting speaks either to his preparedness or his paranoia. Or both. 

Queen Helena stares straight ahead into nothing as Eshe fastens the restraints around Her wrists, the will to fight having apparently left Her. Once they finish, Laviny finally pulls his sword away from Her neck and sheathes it. The room collectively exhales in relief. Eshe does as well, though for different reasons; with the immediate threat of the moment gone, the physical tax of their sorcery catches up with them. Sweat beads their brow, their joints ache, and they have to lean against the wall to keep from falling over. A few of their fellow knights approach them, concerned, but Eshe waves them off. 

“Nothing but a bit of fatigue,” they say.

They aren’t the only one—around the room, assembled nobles collect themselves and gradually return to their seats, still somewhat dazed by the displays of sorcery. Out of the corner of their eye, Eshe spots Veronica creeping toward an exit on her hands and knees. She doesn’t make it far.

“Knight-Captain! What of…uh. Her?” One of the sun-knights gestures to Veronica. Eshe sighs. Always the complications.

Laviny looks her over curiously. “Keep her there; she’s coming with us. Something doesn’t quite add up.”

Eshe slides down the wall to sit. This isn’t an entirely unexpected development, but…by Sol, what did they get themself into? Before they can wallow too deeply in self-pity, Laviny turns to the nobles and begins speaking in a booming baritone.

“As arbiter of the First Executor’s Will, I declare Sorceress-Queen Helena a corruptor and a tyrant. Duke Berinni, may he rest in peace, called our Order here to stop Her from spreading disorder and to protect the people of Arlunn. He believed such an end could be achieved through peaceful negotiation; tragically, he was wrong. Therefore, the Order will henceforth take matters into our own hands regarding the Queen’s judgment. Clearly, all others lack the means and convictions necessary to quell rogue sorcery.”

The room erupts into discontented murmurs as Laviny finishes his speech. Eshe doubts the sincerity of his grand rhetoric, though—his guaranteed payment just died with Berinni, and anything he does now will be first and foremost for the sake of getting it back. A bluff serves that end. Whisking the Queen away to cut off Her head does not. 

By Sol, Eshe wishes they didn’t have to think so cynically. It reminds them of Veronica’s darker memories.

Lady Francine is the first to speak in response. “While I don’t doubt the soundness of your judgment, Knight-Captain, this is first and foremost an Arlunni affair. It should be handled within our own courts.” Eshe notices that despite putting on her usual air of dry confidence, Lady Francine had to tuck her hands tightly in her armpits to keep them from trembling. She’s likely shaken from her peer’s disintegration—destructive sorcery can be uniquely terrifying to those unacquainted with it. 

Laviny glares at her. “Allow you and the Queen’s other lackeys to absolve Her of any wrongdoing? I think not.”

Francine exchanges a few quiet words with Paolo, who then steps forward and takes over from the spymaster.

“Please, Laviny. Our first priority must be the stability of the kingdom.” The Viscount walks over to the sun-knights, appealing directly to their Captain. “None here can deny Queen Helena’s crimes now; not after what they’ve seen. A fair, balanced trial is an opportunity for reconciliation. Let us settle our disputes before a judge instead of on a battlefield.”

Laviny says nothing.

Paolo’s next words are whispered. “Francine will cooperate, and the royalists will follow her lead. And we will make you whole, Knight-Captain. You’ve done a great deal for us.”

“If I agreed,” Laviny states cautiously, “then we would need to stay in Arlunn a while longer. Keep a close eye on the Sorceress-Queen. Help ensure a peaceful transfer of power.”

Paolo nods. “You will have a seat at the table. I swear it.”

“Fine.” Laviny glances at Queen Helena, who by now has brought Her knees to Her chest and shut Her eyes. “She can remain in the palace under my guard. Consider it a sign of goodwill.”

Eshe’s stomach drops as their cynical instincts are proven correct. More than that, though, the way Laviny phrased his request is remarkably ominous; ’stay in Arlunn a while longer’ is vague enough that he could realistically keep the Order in one place for years. And why wouldn’t he? If his main concern is truly money and stability, then wedging his way into whatever new government forms is an excellent way to ensure both. Before they know it, the Order could be unrecognizable—no longer nomadic, no longer separate from any kingdom, no longer dedicated purely to the will of Sol. 

There’s no real way of knowing as of yet. Perhaps the fact that it could realistically happen is what truly terrifies them.

The meeting adjourns not long after, resolving to meet in the morning for further discussion of the trial. Save for those guarding the Queen and Veronica, the members of the Order retire to various guest rooms in the palace to sleep off what little remains of the night. Despite their exhaustion, though, sleep predictably wants no association with Eshe. They lie awake in a remarkably comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling and stewing in their thoughts.

Eshe betrayed the Order of Sol Gloria. They made an incredibly rash decision without consulting their superior, one that nearly ended in complete and total disaster. Putting aside Veronica’s attempt to kill the Queen—which they haven’t even begun to process yet—secretly saving her meant angering a powerful, unpredictable sorceress without warning their fellows of the potential danger. A knight could have easily been killed back there. They all could have easily been killed back there. 

And yet.

Facing danger to fight wicked sorcerers and save their victims is the Order’s purpose; it is the most direct way to walk the Path of Sol. If they or their fellow knights had fallen in battle with the Queen, it would have been a death worthy of the First Executor itself. Any sun-knight would have been willing to suffer such a fate for the greater good. Eshe cannot say the same thing about the other dangers they’ve faced in the Order’s Arlunni campaign. It doesn’t justify their secrecy, but had they not acted secretly they never would have acted at all—Laviny would never have given them permission to save Veronica, and the threat of fucking Reflection would have stopped them from even mentioning the idea. 

They can’t bring themself to regret their actions.

And yet.

Laviny will learn what they’ve done. Queen Helena clearly believed Her accusations against the Order, and the Knight-Captain will want to investigate Veronica to understand why. Once he finds evidence of the Order’s magic in her mind, he’ll scour the ranks to uncover the insubordinate knight who altered her. Eshe could keep their head down, destroying evidence of their involvement, but they doubt it would work; even if it did, they’d be subjecting their siblings-in-arms to a grueling inquisition for the sake of saving their own skin. No, if Eshe wants to walk the Path of Sol as they understand it, there’s only one thing for them to do:

They have to tell Laviny.

*****

Eshe is coming to truly hate the command tent as of late. Even its new location in the palace courtyard doesn’t help—its authority is imposing enough to drain the joy out of wherever it may be. Too many recent bad memories attached to the large slab of canvas, they suppose. Today will likely only create another. 

They gave themself two days to settle their affairs before confessing to Laviny, days spent with those in the Order they cared for most. Just in case they didn’t get the chance to see them again, they wanted to leave things on a good note. They caught up, offered long-overdue gratitude, and listened to the stories and troubles of their siblings-in-arms, almost as if archiving the past few decades of their life. 

Those two days were good. Better than most, even. And then they ended, the sun rose on the third day, and they came to the command tent where they’re now putting off the inevitable.

“Knight-Captain?”

“Come in!” Laviny sounds like he’s in high spirits; looks it too, once Eshe lifts the flap and can see inside the tent. Their Captain methodically peels apart and eats an orange, making sure each and every scrap of rind lands in a neat pile on the corner of his desk. “Sit! Good things are happening, Lieutenant, good things indeed. We’ll make a positive out of this whole mess yet, Sol willing.” 

“I’m glad.” Eshe sits down rigidly, their courage only barely sufficient for what they’re about to do. “Laviny, I wanted to speak with you about Lady Veronica Tiern.”

He scratches his beard and nods sagely. “It’s odd, isn’t it? I can’t quite understand how she fits into everything. When I have a moment this evening, I’ll be visiting her to try and find out.” Another section of orange pops into his mouth.

“It’s…” If they think about it, they can’t say it. So they focus their gaze on a map of Arlunn pinned to the wall, letting the words fall out while they think about topography instead. “I used sorcery to alter her mind. Not to make her an assassin, but…to break the Queen’s spell. To free Veronica.”

Laviny’s chewing slows considerably as if to compensate for the wheels spinning inside his head. The longer he takes, the closer Eshe gets to passing out for lack of breath. He swallows, then meets their eyes. “How?”

“Lord Paolo asked me to. He organized the meeting along with Lady Francine.” 

Laviny continues staring at them coolly. “Why?” 

While face to face with their superior, the fancy words and bold statements of their earlier justifications evade them. They won’t be monologuing about the Order’s purpose—they can barely squeak out a simpler version of the truth. “She was ensorcelled. I was her only hope.”

There’s no eruption of anger from Laviny, no verbal attacks—only a long, drawn out sigh. It’s somehow far worse. “Is it fair to say you understand the incredible danger you put us all in?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“And the severity of your insubordination?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right. And am I correct in assuming there’s some sort of intimacy between you and Lady Veronica?” 

They blush brightly, the last question coming as a surprise. Remembering their morning with Veronica only deepens the pinkish hue of their cheeks. “Ah. Uh. Yes? Incidentally, I mean. After I helped her.” 

Laviny raps his knuckles against the desk several times and shakes his head. “I hoped you’d gotten past this.” 

Eshe frowns. Gotten past what? “Sir?”

“Nevermind that—you wouldn’t remember anyways.” He seems to arrive at some sort of conclusion, rising from his seat to pluck documents from a nearby cabinet. “Perhaps I’ve been too lenient.” 

Eshe feels like they should be alarmed, but their wariness is weighed down by intrusive thoughts of elaborate color arrays. They’re butting against something erased by a Reflection, it seems. Or by several. That should probably alarm them too, but it doesn’t. It can’t. “Has this happened before?” 

“Several times. Though never to this extreme.” Laviny finds the scroll he’s looking for and sits back down to search through it—when unfolded, it’s revealed to be a listing of the Order’s members. “Your heart is always in the right place, Eshe. But occasionally, you focus too much on an individual—usually one you’ve fallen for—and lose sight of the larger picture. You’ve more than a few lovers scattered across the continent, all of whom inspired some sort of foolishness or doubt from you.”

Dread clogs their veins and makes their blood run cold. They think back to their recent revelation regarding the Order’s corruption—have they had it more than once? More than twice? Only to have it wiped from their mind because they slept around?

No, no. Everyone knew about their appetite for pleasure, and it wasn’t an issue. The sex alone wouldn’t prompt Reflection. But questioning the Order would. Confronting corruption would. Taking a stand would. And loyal knight that they are, Eshe had probably confessed to Laviny whenever they did any of those things.

Just like they’re doing now.

The room spins as the last several minutes of insufficient breathing catch up with them. They need to not be in this tent. More than that, they need proof of their suspicions. Adopting a meek pose—head down, eyes low, shrinking inward—they take a deep breath and dig for the truth. “I…I need Reflection, don’t I?”

“Indeed. Minor cuts have proven insufficient; this time, we must be more thorough. Trust me, you’re better off forgetting Lady Veronica. The woman knows nothing but disorder and treachery. Look at what happened: You gave her an inch to maneuver and she went right back to the knife.” Laviny traces his fingers along the names on the scroll, then grabs a pen once he finds the one he wants. “Unfortunately, Eshe, Reflection alone is clearly not enough to correct your course. This has become a habit, and as such requires further corrective measures. I’m stripping you of your Lieutenant rank effective immediately.” His pen scratches a long, dark line across a row of the scroll.

The loss of rank is almost laughable in the face of what they’ve just confirmed: Their mind is a cobbled-together mess, its strands pulled free and rewoven again and again. And if they don’t act quickly, another layer of it will be torn away. “I understand, Sir, and appreciate your kindness. In truth, the guilt has been eating at me intensely these last few days. Might I be dismissed to Reflection immediately to cleanse this burden?”

Laviny smiles and reaches across the desk to put a hand on their shoulder. “Aye, there’s that indomitable spirit. Don’t feel too guilty—in truth, this is my failing as well. I should have stepped in earlier, been more decisive.” He squeezes their shoulder, then pulls his hand away. “Go, my child. Find the Path once more.”

“Thank you, Sir.” 

They dart out of the tent and across the palace grounds, barely able to avoid breaking into a sprint. The fear within their bones turns every corner into a trap, every passing soldier into an inquisitor hunting them down. Find safety. They have to find safety. And though their mind proves incapable of plotting a course, their feet already have a destination in mind. They go back into the palace, passing the court no doubt filled with trial preparations, then zig-zag over to an easily forgotten row of guest rooms tucked away in a back corner.

Another sun-knight waits outside the door—Johan. Eshe freezes as he spots them. This is the end of the line; they’ve been discovered. He’s going to alert the Order, force Eshe into endless Reflections, and then leave them stranded in some sanitarium to babble incoherently for the rest of their life. They’re as good as dead.

“Lieutenant,” Johan greets them mildly, offering a slight nod. 

Oh. He doesn’t know yet. Of course he doesn’t know yet—their meeting with Laviny just ended. Eshe blinks a few times and shakes out their hands to dispel their terror-induced stiffness. Even if only for a moment, they have to get a grip.

“Johan. I-I’m here to interrogate the prisoner. Laviny’s orders. Go get some rest.” Their voice comes out far too breathy and light for their taste, lacking the deep authoritative tone they’ve practiced for so long. 

“Yes, Ser.” Johan hands them a set of keys and walks off.

Eshe approaches the room of the one confidant they have outside the Order; the one person they know who has experience with what they’re going through. The one lover they have any real memories of. They open the door.

Veronica sits on the edge of her bed, staring out the window. Someone got her clothes at some point, and she wears a simple white shirtwaist and beige skirt that match the room’s sparse furnishings. She turns toward Eshe upon hearing them enter and breaks into a smile, her brown eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

“There you are! I’ve been wondering when you’d visit.” She pats a patch of the bed beside her. Eshe sits where she directs, the numbness of uncertainty and fear keeping their movements rigid and their eyes fixed straight ahead. The two sit for a long moment in silence. For all their earlier rush, now that they’re here they have no idea what to say. 

Veronica frowns at their inaction and scoots closer. The warmth of her thigh presses against their own. “Is everything alright?”

Eshe remains still. Even gestures seem too agonizingly difficult for them to bear.

One of Veronica’s delicate little hands tentatively squeezes their shoulder. “Is this about Helena’s accusation? That I tried to kill Her?”

Eshe remains still. It’s not really about that, though the accusation is certainly one of the many thoughts turning over and over in their head to no avail.

Veronica misreads the empty page of their expression and continues on. “She had a necklace; some kind of magical protection. Must have had it for the first assassination attempt too.” She moves to pull her hand away from their shoulder, but they gently clasp it with one of their own and hold it there. “But you know what? I think it would have gone off a moment too late to stop me. Probably designed to stop someone bursting through the door instead of someone already in the room. I think I could have killed Her during that slight delay.” 

Eshe turns to look at Veronica, distracted from their inner turmoil by the peculiar nature of her words. “But?”

“But I stopped myself. Let the stab go wide. And for the last few days, I’ve been wondering if I did the right thing, the stupid thing, or both.”

Eshe shakes their head and smiles. “Definitely both.” 

Veronica’s giggle is the high peals of silverware tapping crystal, refined and resonant alike. The sense of relief Eshe feels at her explanation is odd—they wouldn’t have judged her too harshly for genuinely attempting to kill her captor, but they’re still glad she didn’t. Or maybe they’re glad she made a decision she’s satisfied with. Isn’t that true restitution, after all? A just outcome the victim is satisfied with? 

“Well, we can’t all be as heroic as Ser Eshe,” Veronica teases, resting her head on their shoulder. 

The casual remark digs far deeper than she no doubt intended. Eshe knows they aren’t heroic or even right and stupid; they are only foolish to the point of harmful negligence. If they truly had a backbone, they’d have fled the Order at the first sign of ill intentions instead of meekly admitting their conflicted feelings to Laviny. Reflection never would have been a factor. 

And now they still haven’t fled despite knowing the cycle of their past few years. Had this same thing happened before as well? Had they lacked the courage to run even knowing what awaited them? The prospect of it is too much to bear. Their moorings of emotional control snap, and they cover their face with their hands and howl in defeated anguish.

“Oh! Uh. Shit. Come here, Eshe.” Veronica jumps in surprise and then pulls their head onto her lap, gently peeling away their digging nails and stroking their nose and forehead with two fingers. “We can sort through what the matter is later, hmm? For now, let’s focus on deep breaths.” 

They stay in that position for some time, both as Eshe calms down and then as they recount their discoveries to Veronica—everything about their confession and forgotten past. For her part the noblewoman is mostly quiet, only offering gentle affirmations or asking short, clarifying questions.

When they finish, she remains silent for a moment before declaring: “Then let’s get you out of here.”

A bolt of unease shoots through Eshe at the prospect. They knew this moment would come. They’d even planned for it. But now that they have to actually make the choice to leave, they aren’t sure they can. And so they opt for excuses.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Complexity is what awaits you if you stay.”

“The Order is all I know; it is my life.”

“Then come with me. We can help each other find new lives.”

“Veronica…” Beneath the other, flimsier excuses lies a deeper fear, one drilled into their very soul during their initiation into the Order. “There are consequences for breaking my oaths.”

“Such as?”

“The Mark of the Eclipse,” Knight-Captain Laviny said, pointing to the man—no, the thing—writhing in the dirt. “The brand of traitors whose heat never truly fades.”

Eshe watched the thing whimper and grasp its face feebly. They still caught glimpses of the Mark between its fingers from time to time: two circles of blackened flesh around the thing’s eyes no larger than small plums. When its eyes briefly opened, they saw only solid black save for two bright golden rings where its irises used to be—rings representing the edges of an eclipsed sun. 

“I can’t see!” The thing howled. “I can’t fucking see!” 

There was no branding iron nearby. Laviny had not needed it; some intrinsic sorcery had done the necessary work.

“Johan!” The Knight-Captain snapped. “Tell me who this is.” He nodded at the thing beneath him.

“Initiate Paris, Sir! Or, um. Just Paris now, I mean, Sir.”

“Wrong. Eshe?”

They stepped forward and responded confidently. “It is nothing, Sir. It is not to be spoken of or to ever again.”

“Correct. I see you’ve been diligent in your readings, Eshe. Well done.”

“Thank you, Sir.” 

Pride filled them at the compliment, so much so that they could almost ignore the sorry state of their former friend. Ignoring it was for the best, in truth; they’d break camp the next morning, heading off toward Qen and leaving it behind to wander the land alone. No other knightly Order would accept it into their ranks—they would understand what the mark meant.

A fair punishment for a traitor, if you asked Eshe.

The memory of their old zealotry inspires a deep resounding sense of resignation within them. That’s who the Order wants them to be: someone who will stand and watch others suffer for the sake of hierarchy and chain of command. They did so with Paris so many years ago, and they did so with the citizens of Niol only last week. 

The Order did not change around Eshe; Eshe changed within the Order. And unless they are permanently banished by the Mark, they’ll succumb to the pressure and allow the Order to change them back.

“...nevermind,” Eshe sighs, getting up from Veronica’s lap. They don’t have the heart to tell her, lest they lose their nerve. Besides, she’ll find out soon enough.

She kisses them on the temple. “I know it’s scary, and there are a lot of unknowns. But we’ll take it one day at a time.” 

“Right.” Eshe’s throat and mouth are completely dry. Here goes everything; here goes nothing. “You seem awfully confident in your ability to get us out.”

Veronica snorts. “Are you kidding? The only reason I’m still here is because I wanted to convince you to come with me. Compared to Helena, the Order’s security is shit.” 

Eshe rises from the bed and opens the door a crack, peeking out into the hallway to find it empty. They turn back to face Veronica. “You know, someone once told me about a secret network of servant passages within the palace.”

“Oh? She must be remarkably clever.” 

“She is.” Eshe manages a weak smile. “But I liked her more when she wasn’t allowed to wear clothes.” They couldn’t help themself; they just had to see Veronica’s adorable little pout one more time.

“Ugh. Go, you big dumb idiot. Take a left at the end of the hall. Oh, and steal everything valuable you can along the way; that’s our ration fund for the next week or so.” 

The pair of them work through the increasingly narrow servant passages, finding them all empty—a useful quirk of the palace’s transitionary period. The emptiness robs the escape of a great deal of its excitement, much to the relief of Eshe. Excitement, they’ve found, is overrated. Veronica’s route finds them exiting the back door of the palace kitchens before long, where they’re only a short sprint away from the relative cover of some sparse woodlands. 

It all feels so surreal to Eshe. They’re sure Veronica can feel it too; they’re just…leaving, simple as that. Simple as putting one foot in front of another. They’d almost expected their legs to yield no movement like in nightmares, sluggish and unresponsive when they needed them most. But nothing stops them, and so leaving is only a matter of walking through the woods with Veronica. They make a point to take in every detail—the way a sparrow’s talons clutch a twig. The swoops and dives of a dead leaf falling from a branch. How all the trees and shrubs seem to yawn and stretch with the breeze. Simple delights once taken for granted.

An hour or so into their journey, Veronica guides them to a break in the trees where a river bend awaits them. It’s a lovely sight in the afternoon light, and the rushing water draws their attention back to the forest’s minimalist autumn symphony.

“Mind if we rest for a moment? This spot is…” Veronica trails off, not needing to complete her sentence. The perk of having a companion who’s seen inside your head, Eshe supposes. 

“I’d like that.” 

The two of them sit by the riverbank in silence, the serenity of the moment proving preferable to anything they might think to say. 

And then Eshe feels warmth building between their temples, and their vision begins to dim. 

Enough time has passed for someone to notice them gone, apparently. The precise mechanics of the Mark elude them. 

Eshe looks over to Veronica, who’s basking in the sunlight with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. It’s hard to believe she used to look so different—she wears her current form with such poise and grace. And while such sorcery might have diminished a lesser woman both in stature and spirit, Veronica’s is greater than ever before. She’s reclaimed her alterations, changing them from symbols of defeat to symbols of the adversity she’s triumphed over.

They hope they can do the same.

The image of her beauty proves to be their last, as the heat turns to burning pain and their world goes dark. 

Even with their foreknowledge, panic still grips them once the last of their vision is gone. The darkness presses down on them, crushing and squeezing until they cannot breathe or move or see, they can’t see and they’ll never be able to fucking see again and—

“Eshe?”

They whimper. They can’t help themself.

Veronica grabs their hand and squeezes. “I’m here, beautiful. I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

Eshe squeezes back harder.