The world had changed in more than one way as I stepped out from the choking pressure of the Command tent.
The Lifegiver had painted the heavens in red—his blood-streaked farewell to us—awaiting the Sisters' arrival in the darkening sky. Far to the west, Lapurum still smoldered, its columns of smoke still rising.
The camp had not yet fallen silent. Soldiers moved between the pyres and the trenches, returning from their morbid duties near the carcass of the city. They paused only to drink, to rest, and then to go back at it again. Most carried shovels instead of spears now; their armor was stripped away, their bodies bare, exhausted, and consumed by heat and labor.
I understood then that faith demands penance even when sin was never freely chosen — that duty can damn as surely as disobedience.
A long, beautiful journey… Her words still rang in my mind. I could understand the length, and even the journey, but not the beauty. My thoughts trembled at what she might consider beautiful. But alas—time alone would tell whether this was one of her cruel amusements, or another test of my faith.
I could make out Felix near the line of returning soldiers. He stood along the sand-paved path that cut through the camp—though the hundreds of feet that had crossed it in the last hours had worn it down to little more than a memory of the road it once was.
He was giving orders to some, pointing others toward their tasks, answering the questioning faces that turned to him for direction. The chain of command had paid its toll in blood yesterday, and the absence of Subcenturi was beginning to show. Only a handful of officers remained to steer the remnants of the legio, and the strain was already fracturing the lines of order into looser groups—men now divided by duty rather than rank. It made for easier management in reconstruction, perhaps, but not for war.
He had one soldier by the elbow, guiding him toward the next work detail, already turning to address the next man before the first had even moved. He handled this new duty as he handled every obstacle in his path—fully devoted, without hesitation.
It pained me to drag him into a burden I was meant to bear alone, yet I had no power to spare him from it.
"Legatus Varian," I called out to him.
He turned toward the sound of my voice. The moment he recognized me, he gave a short, respectful nod of acknowledgment before excusing the soldier he'd been instructing. A few more clipped words left his lips—orders, no doubt—and then he hastened across the sand-worn path to reach me.
"Praefectus!" he called as he drew near, his breath only slightly uneven from the dash. "How did it go in there?" he asked, a faint spark of amusement lighting his tone.
"I saw the Hierophant leave as if the Lifegiver Himself were at his heels," he added with a half-smile. "Did you scare him off, Praefectus?"
"Felix," I began, placing a hand on his shoulder—partly to steady his humor, partly to brace him for what I was about to say.
The brightness faded from his face as he sensed the weight in my voice.
"What is it, Praefectus? What did he tell you in there?" he asked, genuine worry threading through his tone.
"I'll have to leave the Legio for a while, Felix," I said plainly. There was no use cloaking it. "I've been tasked to make a pilgrimage—for the good of the Empire, and for the deliverance of my own soul."
He blinked, confusion cutting through his composure.
"What are you talking about, Praefectus? Who's to command in your absence?" he interjected, the words rushing from him before thought could temper them.
"The Legio will remain here to oversee the reconstruction of Lapurum," I told him. "For the time being, both our services may be spared without grave consequence."
His eyes widened as the meaning took hold.
"You mean to tell me they're sending me away as well?" he said—half to me, half to himself, the weight of it settling visibly across his shoulders.
"It was not my choice, Felix—believe me, brother," I said softly. "The last thing I would wish is for you to be punished for my actions. Were it in my power, I would leave you here in my stead to command."
His gaze met mine, clear and unwavering, a faint glimmer behind it.
"Praefectus," he said, voice steady now, "my place will always be at your side. It is both my duty and my honor as your Legatus. So please, do not apologize for the fate I share with you."
And with that, the burden no longer rested on my shoulders alone.
"Come with me, Felix," I said, giving him a firm pat on the back. "We have some packing to do."
He nodded, and I turned toward our tents, leading him through the waning light that draped the camp in shades of red and indigo.
Torches had been lit at the camp's entrance before darkness fell, their flames casting a faint, uneven glow across the nearby tents. I pushed aside the flap and stepped warily inside. It hadn't been long since I had packed for the march to Lapurum—and now, once again, I found myself preparing to leave. Only this time, even less would come with me.
My armor waited for me where I had left it, the scars along its breastplate scattering the torchlight that flickered through the tent. I stepped closer and laid my palm upon it.
"We'll have to part for now," I murmured—reassuring it, perhaps, or reassuring myself that I would return.
I began filling my saddlebags with what little a journey like this could not do without, trying to calculate how often we might find the chance to replenish our supplies along the way. Planning, however, felt almost futile with so much still unknown about the road ahead.
I fastened my scabbard to my belt and drew my sword for a brief inspection. Through all that had happened, it had never once left its sheath.
By contrast, the claw-ring awaited me by my stretcher, resting neatly upon a small wooden stool. It had done too much already, I thought as I took it in my hand. The metal was cold, yet somehow welcoming, folding easily against my palm.
For a fleeting instant, the image of the young priestess's eyes flashed before me. I made the choice I had to—and returned to my preparations for departure.
I heard Felix's voice calling from outside.
"Are you ready, Praefectus?" he asked quietly. "We've been summoned to the eastern gate."
"I'll be with you in a moment, Felix," I replied, taking one last look around the tent to make sure I had gathered everything essential for the road ahead.
My hand reached for my cloak—then stopped. Wearing the midnight-black, gold-trimmed show of office would not be a wise choice if we were meant to tread in hostile lands. It would be the same as walking with the Empire's banner draped across my back. The thought drew from me a low, bitter chuckle.
I rummaged through the wooden chest that held the rest of my possessions until I found a serviceable substitute. There it was: a deep, wine-red cloak—weathered but sound, and most importantly, subtle.
I drew it over my shoulders, the coarse wool settling around me like a spill of dark blood. A fitting color for a pilgrim upon his own path of crimson, I thought, reminding myself that the road was the same as ever—only its purpose had changed. Once I walked it as a soldier. Now I would walk it as a penitent man.
I stepped out of the tent and found Felix waiting for me outside. For a moment, I almost stopped mid-stride—my hand still clutching the tent flap. It was as if he had heard my thoughts and decided to mock them.
He stood there, the torchlight glinting off every polished plate of his armor, his presence loud enough to wake the dead.
Fortune spared me the need for words. Felix looked me over from head to toe, then back at his own attire. His expression shifted to sheepish realization.
"I'll go change," he said simply, understanding how loudly his loyalties were declared beside my plain garb.
A small sigh escaped my chest. "I'll wait for you by the gates, Felix—and remember, we don't want every pair of eyes from here to Deawiel drawn to us. We'll be suspicious enough as it is."
"Understood, Praefectus," he replied, already turning back toward his tent to free himself from the weight of his armor.
"You can still be a soldier beneath it all, my friend," I called after him. "Keep only what you need, and come meet me."
I took up the reins of my horse and began leading it through the shifting camp, the torchlight bending and swaying over the path ahead.
Watchfires burned near the eastern gate, their glow trembling against the iron fittings of the timber gates. The two sentries posted there leaned on their shields to keep themselves upright. Night duty was always exhausting after a day's labor, and I could only imagine what other burdens these men had endured to still be standing watch.
I slowed my pace, giving them a moment before I'd be forced to correct their posture. They noticed me soon enough—one nudged the other sharply, and both straightened at once, snapping to attention as I approached.
"At ease, legionaries," I called out, raising my palm to greet them and release them from their stance.
"Ave Sorores Noctis et Sol," proclaimed the younger of the two, striking his chest with one hand in salute.
"How may we serve, Praefectus?" asked the elder, his hand following his companion's gesture. Both wore a mix of eagerness to please and the weary dread of men fearing another task before rest.
I wasn't sure whether word of my departure had spread through the camp yet, so I chose to spare us all needless formality.
"Get some rest, the both of you. You look as though you've earned it. Your fellows on the opposite watch can cover the next hour, can't they?" I said, directing the question to the younger one, knowing the offer would catch him off guard.
"Sir, we are in perfect condition to remain at post," he replied quickly, apologetic even in his refusal. His partner and I exchanged a knowing glance.
"A little rest never hurt anyone, soldier," I said, catching the faint spark of hope in the older man's eyes.
"It's an order."
"You heard the Praefectus!" the older legionary barked with sudden enthusiasm, eager to seize his reprieve and pull the younger along with him.
"You have one hour," I added as they lifted their shields and slung them over their backs.
"Thank you, Praefectus," the elder said, nodding respectfully as they stepped away from the gate.
"There's someone waiting for you, sir," the younger added, tilting his head toward the fire burning near the right side of the gate before the older man tugged at his arm, anxious I might change my mind.
I looked over—and there she was.
Hidden among the shadows cast by the watchfire stood the white-hooded figure of the third pilgrim: the young priestess, Adrian Serina. She seemed lost in thought, her bowed head allowing faint glimpses of pale skin to catch the Sisters' night-glow.
I tried to greet her without startling her.
"Sister Serina, I presume?" I asked softly as I approached.
Her reaction mirrored that of a young stag hearing the hunter's steps in the brush—tense, alert, searching for an escape.
Her head lifted, eyes widening in recognition. A deep green hue glimmered beneath her hood, a color I hadn't noticed until now. The restlessness in her expression betrayed her exhaustion; the skin beneath her reddened eyes was swollen and sore.
I couldn't blame her. She was younger than I had been when I first took the oath, and yet here she stood—already witness and survivor to one of the most destructive displays of force I had ever seen unleashed in my lifetime.
"I was ordered to wait here for your arrival, sir," she said—skipping formalities, or perhaps simply unaware of them beyond the ranks of the priesthood.
"And I was informed that we are to keep each other's company on this journey," I replied, my tone softening instinctively—much as it did when speaking to my sister's children back home.
"My task is to observe, sir," she continued, her voice echoing her orders, "and to keep all of us away from sin and temptation."
"And that you will do, Sister," I said, hoping to reassure her—to remind her that her purpose in this pilgrimage was not a punishment, but a duty.
"Yes, sir," she replied—her voice wary, her gaze the same. I could see she was still deciding whether I was a threat, and who could blame her? Our only encounters before today had been on the fields outside Lapurum—and we both knew that what had happened out there, what she had seen me do with those troubled green eyes, was the reason we now shared this fate.
"Call me Marcus, if you will," I told her, offering a faint smile. "Formalities could give us away too easily among our enemies." I waited to see if the remark might ease her tension.
"Will do, sir," she answered, then immediately lowered her head, realizing she had ignored my request. The embarrassment was plain on her face.
"We'll have to work on that," I said lightly, brushing it off.
"Ah—and here's Legatus Varian," I added as Felix appeared in the distance.
"He'll be joining us on this pilgrimage as well."
Felix tied his horse beside mine and approached. "Come, Legatus, let me make the introductions," I said, gesturing toward Adrian.
"This young lady is Sister Adrian Serina—she too will be accompanying us."
Turning to her, I continued, "And this is my dear friend, Legatus Felix Varian. You'll have little to fear on the road, Sister—he alone could protect us from half an army if need be." I said it with a smile, patting Felix on the back.
"Feeling lighter, Felix?" I asked with mock severity.
"In second thought, I may have overdone it, Praefectus," he replied with a grin, scratching at his black curls.
"As I mentioned to Sister Serina earlier," I said, "we should go by our first names to lessen the chance of being noticed. Would that be acceptable, Felix?"
"Of course, Praef—" he stopped himself, catching my look. "Marcus," he finished, the name brightening his face as though I had granted him a rare privilege.
Our brief banter was cut short by the squeal of approaching cart wheels.
Two horses strained against their harnesses, drawing a wooden cart toward the gate—upon it stood the radiant form of the Keeper. For a moment, I couldn't make out the figure seated beside her, but the small frame and the faint glimmer of red hair beneath the hood left little doubt as to who it was.
It was the creature—Thaddeus Fogg. His chained hands hung between his short legs, the iron links clinking softly with each jolt of the wheels. His expression was grim, unreadable.
The Keeper, by contrast, looked almost pleased with her company, her body swaying in calm rhythm with the cart's motion as though the whole affair were some quiet procession.
I glanced back at my companions. Felix's expression had hardened at the sight of the creature, though he kept his thoughts to himself, letting them simmer behind his eyes.
Sister Adrian, by contrast, looked intrigued by their arrival—but she quickly fell to her knees in reverence at the Keeper's presence.
In that moment, I could have sworn I never saw nor heard them descend from the cart—yet there they stood before us: the Keeper, poised and otherworldly beneath the Sisters' light, and the creature, skulking behind her shadow.
"I see you managed to prepare in time, Praefectus," she said, her unsettling smile growing ever more divine as her radiance swallowed the light of the watchfire.
"We've managed to do so, Your Radiance," I replied, my eyes drifting toward the cautious creature standing behind her.
"I see my parting gift caught your attention, my sweet paladin," she went on. "I'm rather good at choosing presents, aren't I?" Her hungry, shifting gaze locked on me.
"I can see the use we might have for it on our pilgrimage, Your Radiance," I answered, my mind already turning over the precautions we would have to take now that it would accompany us. We would have more than the road to worry about—we would need to watch and conceal a creature that could prove deadly if left unguarded.
"Don't worry, Praefectus. He's going to be a good and obedient boy. Wouldn't you now?" she said, addressing both me and the creature as she laid her midnight hand upon its red hair, scruffing it as one would an exotic pet.
The creature forced itself not to recoil from her touch, but for a fleeting second, I felt a pang of grief for whatever had transpired between them to break its spirit so completely since the last time I saw it.
"Now that I have you all here, children, let's set your course!" the Keeper declared with sudden delight.
"I would like you to return our new friend here to his—Guild, was it?" She turned toward the creature for confirmation. It nodded quickly, eager to please.
"To his Guild's house in Alverset then," she continued. "Let him gather whatever belongings he requires and bring them back to me—most likely here." Her tone made the task sound almost trivial, though the weight of it pressed heavy upon us all.
"Will do, Your Radiance," came Sister Adrian's voice before any of us could answer. Her eagerness to please the Keeper was as loud as it was earnest.
"That's comforting to know—thank you, Sister Serina," the Keeper replied with mock appreciation.
"Let's move along then. The night may be young, but the Lifegiver won't wait forever to reclaim his throne in the sky," she said, placing both palms on her hips and gesturing for us to hurry.
"As you command, Your Radiance," Felix and I answered in unison, then turned to transfer our gear and supplies from the horses to the cart she had provided.
"Oh, and one last thing, Praefectus," she said as she turned her back to us, her voice drifting into the dark.
"Yes, Your Radiance?" I asked, uneasy about what more she might demand.
"Red suits you," she said. Her sharp canine caught the firelight in a fleeting glint of gold—then she vanished into the night's shadows.
And with that, we were left alone—an uneasy gathering passing through the camp's gates for the last time until our task was complete.
Sister Adrian guided the wooden cart, our supplies shifting and bobbing in its bed. The creature sat chained among them, the faint chiming of his bonds marking the rhythm of our departure.
Felix and I followed behind on horseback, our pace slow, the night air cool against the embers of the watchfires fading behind us.
"Where to now, Praefectus?" Felix asked, awaiting my direction.
I cast one last glance toward the closing gates—the lights of the camp dimming behind them, silencing the life that stirred within its enclosure.
"I have an old friend who might aid us on our way through Almia," I told him, catching the questioning look that crossed his face. "Last I heard, she was staying in a town called Jovirelle, just past the canal city of Arventis. For now, let the river be our guide northward."
"She, sir?" Felix asked, puzzled.
"That's a story for another time, Legatus," I replied, half serious, half surprised that this was what caught his attention.
"We have a long road ahead of us—and many things to discuss before we reach it," I added, then spurred my horse forward to close the distance between us and the cart.