Jillian remained silent and watched Gerald’s brief protest with a mellow gaze. She felt truly sorry for him; not only was the world telling him that this unique chance to cure himself of the Withering was wrong, and that he had no right to hope for that kind of salvation, but the mere glimpse of this hope was enough to almost blind an otherwise extremely cautious and intelligent man to the obvious dangers this would entail. He must have been suffering for so long… that he still stood tall was nothing short of a miracle – or proof of his indomitable character. Even so, she pitied him, and it was this pity, she thought, that drove her to agree to the Grand Master’s risky gamble. But she would never tell him that she felt like so. He would only reject her.

“I suppose that might work. I understand that Renold is not exempt from being the target of possession, yes?” the witch asked for clarity’s sake, casting a brief glance at her large companion. “The binding circle would have to be sizeable to contain all of us. But circles mostly suppress magical power, don’t they? Out of us four, Renold easily does not need any of it to threaten us. This whole plan would have to be executed extremely quickly.”

It was a plan, but it seemed shaky. They had no time to practice any of this. They would have to be very fast. And any deviation from expected behavior could spell chaos, maybe defeat for them. Their chances were not very thrilling, she imagined. And when she died, the Grand Master came to collect. Unless she was to become Hazzergash’s vessel, in which case… well, who even knew what then?