"Speaking of apostles," Ludwig said, his voice low and steady, though something simmered beneath it, fatigue perhaps mental one of course, or the slow, creeping weight of realization settling deeper with every breath. He glanced toward the arena's shattered silhouette looming beyond the smoke, then back to Titania with a grim look hardening his features. "You know this isn't the only one attacking."
The Holy Maiden turned sharply to face him, the motion crisp and deliberate, a line forming between her brows. Her silvered pauldrons caught what little light filtered through the dust-choked sky. "What?" she asked, the word clipped, almost disbelieving, but not entirely surprised. "How do you know that?"
