When Oren saw the healer’s crest, his eyes widened in brief shock, but a number of explanations jumped to mind and calmed him. Gantleaf was known for its medicinal properties. Father Antonin was a healer, and where ether failed, concoctions might succeed. And both the White Necromancer and their host had a number of years to their name – perhaps they, in their time, had served alongside one another. As Brother and Sister, or as comrades, like Oren and Ziotea. Perhaps the container was a keepsake given during that time; perhaps Essa had stolen it as she fled the Seminary; or perhaps Antonin pressed it on her as a parting gift. It was not so farfetched to imagine one of those as the reason.

He had dwelled on that thought for so long, he only noticed Essa was in the midst of what looked like a fit. But he kept his expression plain, and the moment passed, as she started her tale. Oren had his curiosities, and as he craned his neck back to properly see the ceiling of water, he drank in what he saw. Varya. Muraad. T’sarae. And the twins. Discomfort coiled in his stomach when he saw the male of the two. Something about this Asherahn was… incorrect. It did not belong on the ice.

And in the following image, he saw the dome of Syddon-Mar. For a moment, his vision was superimposed over the scene – the smiling faces of the Omestrian people, beckoning him, accepting him. But he blinked, and they were swept away – because they were only imagined. As the images faded, and the water returned to its tanks, he closed his eyes, and let out a slow, shuddering breath that he hadn’t realised was held. Was all of this true? It went against everything that he had ever been told… but Essa’s story held root. It was not outlandish, or impossible. But the chords it struck were sensitive all the same. And if any part of this was true - like a boulder balanced on the very edge of a cliff - there was a great potential for danger. Loyal to Varya or not, this Asherahn could represent a threat to millions. The thought stung.

Oren looked up when Rose spoke. An invitation to stay the night. Yes… yes, that might help him clear his head… his thoughts were too clouded right now. He glanced sideways at Ziotea momentarily. He could sense the questions bubbling, brimming, boiling beneath the surface. Just like himself. Their eyes met, and before he could speak, she turned back to the girl.

“We’ll stay.  But you, girl.  I want a word… After you’re done seeing to her.”

Ziotea twisted on her heels and made for the door. Oren switched between looking at her and then at Rose, before inclining his head to the young girl and followed Ziotea, as she clearly expected him to. She didn’t waste any time, either.

“You saw that blue ring she mentioned?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, he grit his jaw. She’d know.

“Mm… So did I. Briefly. But mostly, what I saw was fire.”

Oren swallowed and looked down at his right hand. “…Then we both know that there is something to this.”

He slowly traced a circle around his palm, over and over, not meeting her gaze. Somewhat difficult, given their comparative heights.

“I do not know what to do in this instance. This information isn’t by any means insignificant. And it would appear that there’s more that our host might tell us. And why does my Aspect want me to know this if this is true? I am not so easily… influenced… by dreams.” Not anymore. “We have some choices to make when we return, also. Do we tell others? Or keep it secret? Should we seek out verification, of some kind? The archives hold many forgotten things. I am blind, for all intent – I see no easy paths.”

He looked at Ziotea. “Do you believe her? About this other god?”