2412 Diori 01, Daleth

Amid the explosions and the fighting at their doorstep, Ezril ducked into her son's room to check how he's doing. While the rest of their comrades were out defending the Temple, a priest and a priestess stayed behind and nursed Vaeri the best they could. Something heavy settled inside Ezril's gut as she regarded the sickly boy sinking into the mattress under the load of blankets. It's as if the bed developed a taste for young banshees and was now devouring him.

She shook her head at that disturbing imagery. It might come true if she's not vigilant.

"You are dismissed," she said to the attendants who had retreated closer to the wall as she approached. A Serzhak and her blax. Perhaps, she'd give them a promotion. Were they needing a Precar somewhere in the other departments?

The two were almost to the door when Ezril remembered she had to speak to get people's attention. "Who are you working under?" she asked, stopping the serzhak in her tracks. Her blax, startled, bumped into her.

The serzhak scrambled back to where Ezril stood and ducked her head. "High Priestess, I apologize," she said even though Ezril had no idea what she's apologizing for. "We work under Precar Nesala. We were assigned to this ward since the siege started. And um..."

Nesala. Were they under Ashryn? Maybe Janos, but that old bug wouldn't bother with assigning his underlings to the ward during this turbulent time. Not that she minded. As long as they took care of her son when she couldn't, she'd be okay. Ashryn seemed to be a better candidate, considering her eye for details and her memory for things even Ezril was prone to forget.

To think she never forgot Vaeri even though she's out there, fighting a war that wasn't hers. Ezril had to remember to reward all of her Rekshais not after, but during this war. What's a small celebration in the middle of hell? They might never get to do it later on, when reality finally settled upon heads.

"What are your names?" Ezril prompted, seeing the sweat beading on the serzhak's hairline and the blax's confused expression. "I ought to remember them."

"T-there is no need, High Priestess," the serzhak answered, stumbling along her words. "Precar Nesala can deliver the punishment in your stead."

Ezril swallowed the urge to slap the girl upside the head. Why does everyone assume they did something wrong just because she wanted to talk to them? Couldn't an overseer talk to their employees? "You did nothing wrong, child," she amended. "I'm merely asking your names because I aim to reward you."

The serzhak bowed until her upper form was parallel to the ground. Her transitioning hair spilled from her shoulders which she swiped with her fist. "I am merely doing my job, High Priestess," she said. "The minimum."

"Let a mother be one, will you?" Ezril said softly, jarring the girl out of her bow. A pensive expression bordering on confusion settled on the serzhak's features. Ezril sighed. "Names?"

"Oh, Serzhak Sorina," the girl answered. "That's my name, High Priestess."

Ezril cocked an eyebrow. "And the blax?"

"I'm Alwin, High Priestess," the boy no older than Vaeri when he succumbed to the dreadful sickness raised a hand as if he's presenting himself for his precar's morning assembly. Sorina made a hissing sound with her teeth, and the blax fell into the same stance as her. "I mean, my name is Blax Alwin, High Priestess."

"Ezril," she said in reply. "When we're alone, call me by my name."

Silence. Sorina straightened and prompted Alwin to do the same. "May I ask why, Hi—um..." She cleared her throat and tried again. "May I ask why?"

Ezril retreated to the bed and sank on the foot. Kalael told her she sometimes tried too hard to be a relaxed monarch, but it's better than being the tyrant most priests and priestesses believe her to be. "Let's just say I am not fond of formalities," she said. "We are all family in this place, even those we take under our wing. The lost souls and the renewed ones—everyone is welcome, and everyone is our family."

"I...never considered that, H—um, Ezril," Sorina said. She bowed once more, Alwin rushing to emulate her. "Thank you for your kindness."

"You are dismissed, then," Ezril said with a small smile. "Take care in the halls. Call me or run back here when you encounter an enemy."

"Thank you again, Ezril," Sorina said, backing towards the door.

It wasn't until the door clicked shut did the air in Ezril's periphery shimmered green and Kalael appeared. "You didn't have to scare the poor children," he said, floating towards her side and taking the spot by the foot of Vaeri's bed. The mattress didn't sink around his weight, the sheets remaining pristine. Their son wasn't a listless sleeper then, and he wasn't certainly one now. "Sometimes, I wonder how in Fantasilia you managed to hold on to your power for so long."

Ezril snorted. "I don't know how it goes in your home, but in Carleon, monarchs aren't gods or those in power," she said. "Being the High Priestess was a job, a task with a litany of duties and responsibilities that can affect an entire territory and its inhabitants."

"So...a god," Kalael supplied.

"No. Gods are worshiped and thought to be immortal and infallible," Ezril rested her hands on her thighs, letting her feet dangle from the bed's edge. Green smoke curled around her legs, courtesy of Kalael shifting in his seat. "Carleon's monarchs are just people doing their jobs. There's a difference."

Kalael hummed. "Fine. If you say so," he said. "I was a mere soldier, and I don't think I took lessons in politics. Or divinity, for that matter."

She didn't reply. Of course, he wouldn't know. Some memories weren't carried over from the Land of Wonders, and in Kalael's case, it proved to be true. He remembered most of the times he spent with Ezril and their children which was close to when he scattered to the stars, but farther than that, nothing. She didn't have the heart to reveal she got to see and live his memories as her own when she conjured him back.

"So, what are we doing here that we haven't done before?" the spirit prompted when the silence between them grew to an uncomfortable mass.

Ezril didn't mind the subtle jab and reference to all their efforts. She, herself, began to think she should just let Vaeri go and let him suffer no more. But her heart wouldn't take it. She already lost enough, and if she's not going to fight for those she still had, she's bound to lose more.

"I just gave the wards some well-deserved rest," Ezril said. "They have their own lives, and they shouldn't waste it on me and our son."

"Oh, like how our daughter lived hers?" Kalael prodded. The ire in his voice stemmed from his inability to do something about Kymalin's crooked path, because one—he's dead, and two—he couldn't be seen by anyone as per Ezril's precaution.

She heaved a sigh and faced the spirit of her husband. There were still times she forgot he left and just came back. "Let's not talk about that now," she said. "Kym made her choice, and we can only make ours."

"And what choice would that be?" Kalael challenged.

Ezril tilted her head to one side. "What would you do to her if you were in my place?"

"I'd pound some sense into that girl," the spirit answered, crossing his arms over his chest. His limbs disappeared into the mass of the translucent wall next to her. "Joining a covert organization? Killing people and messing with their lives? Summoning spirits for the sake of her master? Turning the Necrom against the Temple and leading the siege on her own home? The nerve!"

His entire surface glowed a bright green, and Ezril hated for him to explode into a shower of goo, so she nodded. "Yes, she did all of that, but she has seen the error of her ways," she said. "At least from what we know from your spying and my frequent checks with Veril."

Kalael narrowed his hollow eyes. "Don't tell me you double-crossed our daughter and sent her own conjured to spy on her," he said. One look at Ezril's knowing expression, and it dawned on him. He threw his arms in the air. "Of course, you did."

Ezril summoned her magic to the surface and pulled on the strings tying her soul to one of her contracts. Within seconds, a deep green smoke column rose from the ground, curling and weaving against its wisps until a new spirit joined them. That's the wonder of being a banshee. One would never be alone, if they so wished.

"Hey, Veril," Kalael gave the spirit a small wave.

The spirit ignored him and turned to Ezril. "You called, Master?"

"You say that with such conviction it makes me laugh and feel sorry for you at the same time," Kalael muttered under his breath, earning him a pointed look from Ezril. He clammed up. "Okay, fine. He can ignore me all he wants. I never understood how inimi listris work, anyway."

What's the point of self-deprecation? No one had time for that. "Veril, what is the latest update on Kymalin?" she asked instead. "Where is she?"

The spirit's hollow face stared off into the horizon, processing how he could skirt around the terms of both Kymalin and Ezril's contracts with his soul. Finally, he settled on something, facing Ezril fully before bowing like the other priestesses. "Kymalin is in Brittlewood, a high-security prison in Avalora, famous for housing well-known convicts of interterritorial offenses such as Herven Fulmer—"

"That's enough," Ezril said through her constricting throat. "Is she there as a prisoner?"

The answer came out in a simple syllable, yet it carried the truth and the possible future her only daughter might face. "Yes."

Ezril shot up, startling Kalael who scrambled up after her. "What for?" she hissed, her legs starting to pace across the rug-infested floor of Vaeri's room. "Why would the Heiress discard her like that? Did she..."

"Breathe, Ez," Kalael skidded in front of her and offered her a careful but placating gesture. "She's not like me."

"Yet," she gritted out through her teeth. "If I don't do something, she might as well be."

"Don't you go to Avalora on your own," Kalael hovered from the ground, his feet lengthening into churning pillars of smoke. "I know she's our daughter, and you want to save her from a high-profile prison like I do, but don't leave one danger for another. How would you even get out of Carleon?"

Ezril's chest heaved, but she sat back down on the bed. "I don't know," she massaged her temples. "I'll figure it out."

Kalael flitted next to her once more and let the wisps of his arms glaze her shoulders. "Kymalin is smart beyond her years," he said. "She can take care of herself, as she got herself into that mess in the first place. You can't go cleaning after people all the time, Ez."

She didn't say anything, her tongue had long ago run out of words. He turned to the pale boy vanishing into the sheets. "She has her war, and we have our own," he said, his words while murky and muted, carrying the same wisdom and comfort as they had since they met. "Vaeri needs you."

"He needs us," Ezril said softly through her coiling gut. It always came to this choice. No one could have everything in this life. Everything was a choice of losing one and keeping the other. And it sucked whenever two important things—those one could never let go of—were being pitted against each other.

But Kalael was right. Kymalin didn't need help charting her own course. Vaeri, however....his life hasn't even started. And it's up to his parents to make sure he gets to live the one life he was given.

It was Ezril's wish, and she's fine with it even if it's her last.

2412 Diori 05, Jyda

Ezril lifted the cap of a trailwhisperer and slid the rotary to answer the incoming call.

"Ezzy!" Airese's jovial voice, albeit a bit scratchy through the connection, floated into the sordid mood in the strategy room. All of them were exhausted, and it showed. "Thank the gods you answered. I've been trying to get to you for the last three days."

Ezril glanced at the exploding sparks and the chaos of conjured spirits clashing with metal weapons and flying bullets. "I've been busy," she rasped. "What's up?"

"We're coming to Drodham," came Airese's breathy reply. Was she...running? That explained the grainy and flickering representation of her face. This technology was nothing like their soul ports, but sadly, connecting two outside Carleon was nigh impossible. Bummer. "Be prepared. We've got tails."

"What mess have you gotten yourself into, Airese?" Ezril asked, resting the trailwhisperer on the round table. It didn't matter that they were in the middle of a meeting for the next strategy in dealing with the insurgents plotting to knock the Temple's doors off. It certainly didn't matter if the enemy was close to overpowering the Temple's warriors, and the Necrom were busy with defending Anchester and were spread too thin across the other cities. When Airese called, Ezril would gladly pause her life to listen to another problem she absolutely had no will to become a part of.

Airese chuckled. "Well, are you up for a story?"

A groan built up deep in Ezril's throat, but she tamped it down. "The short version, please."

"Okay, fine," Airese answered. "To put it simply—we have the thrones with us. At least, those we know the hidden locations of. Anahel's retrieving hers. Eldan and I just raided the last safe. We've agreed to meet at Drodham."

Ezril delivered a pointed sigh. "Can't you see I'm dealing with my own problems here?" she asked. "Can't Eldan or Marthiaq confirm our predicament?"

The line crackled, and a fleeting curse rang through the call and echoed in the strategy room's high ceilings. Leave it to Airese to start demystifying the brownie stereotype. Not all of them were girls of decorum. "Don't worry about that. We know," she said. "Consider us as reinforcements. You know how insane we can be."

The memories of their wild Academy days and their escapades years, decades, and centuries later flashed into Ezril's mind. "Oh, I don't doubt it," she answered. "I trust you know your way through the forest?"

Airese's smile was still the same as ever—conniving and sinister. She's looking forward to wrecking havoc, and she would. That's why Ezril had no qualms. "And your stalkers?" she said. "Get rid of them before you cross the border."

A series of clangs and grunts and Airese's face jerking and disappearing into a whish of lights followed. Breathy giggles crackled across the connection later. "Just did. Looks like I still got it," Airese said. "I'll meet up with Eldan, then we'll head to Carleon. Oh, and before I forget..."

"What?" Ezril said.

"Nyxis Helgase and Cyrdel Sonasson will be coming as well," Airese added. "It's going to be one hell of a feast."

Before Ezril could reply or add anything of value, the call cut, leaving them with a barren trailwhisperer and a promise of an impending disastrous feast, led by none other than Airese Vivenca.

But, what were friends for?