[i]The wasteland's piercing winds sounded diminutive in comparison to the thundering echoes of war on the horizon. Varyan steamships grinded themselves to pieces, but all the squad of inquisitors could hear was the groaning of steel as the hulking beasts gave out under cannon fire. It was the thunder of these blasts that carved its way into the Black Glacier— not the primal cries of dying men and women, disregarded in their individuality. No singular entity was noted. The enemy cared only for their mass identity. So it would be all of them that fell that day.[/i]

It was in spite of the unheard baleful calls of fallen soldiers that Tatiana's focus lied elsewhere. Just as mechanically as the seraph statues had swiveled to view her, Tatiana curbed her gaze to stare into the [i]desolate[/i] eyes of her once opponents. It was that sort of response— one filled with [i]desolation[/i]— that she echoed back to the creatures as the twisted into their own aberrant forms. The summoner didn't even appear to flinch as the two flanking demons shattered into fractured patterns of glacial shards. She had seen too much already. Too much death. Too much loss. Too much trouble. Too much [i]desolation...[/i]

It was in the shadow of death that Tatiana's bleak gaze met that of her adversary's remote eyes. The few words he uttered spoke volumes to the fell summoner. Piece by piece, Tatiana constructed a picture of her own shadowy adversary. In her mind, the girl forged her own image of the enemy, but it was an enemy she would have never expected. As the last demon standing spoke, more memories rushed back into her mind. The days of her training as a summoner— the grueling hours spent in constant struggle, and it was all done with one man by her side. He was gone. He left their cause for his own deranged visions of better futures. He may not have been a puppeteer of the red-eyed demon, but he was behind the scenario. Tatiana could discern that much.

Tatiana found herself too locked within her own mind to concentrate on Cillian's woeful display of lashing out at the demon. Everyone's cards were already splayed out. There was no sense in fighting further. Tatiana knew that much. It wasn't until the red-eyed puppet set his ruby eyes upon Galahad. His hollow words met Tatiana with just as much hollow and impassive power. She stared idly ahead, pondering the fate of the Varyans. Something was off, though. There was something missing inside her. The toll of death was absent from her being. No heart-wrenching pangs of pain. No cold-running blood sending strange shivers throughout her limbs. All that remained within Tatiana was that hollow, [i]desolate[/i] energy. For a moment, she thought she had lost her drive entirely, but then revelations began to reach her.

[i]Perhaps it was Dara that killed—[/i]

The echoic shattering sounding from the demon being fractured into its base materials shook Tatiana from her thoughts. Her empty eyes settled upon the effigy of ice— now nothing more than just that: ice. Galahad was the one to speak up and offer guidance. It was time to flee. With that idea, Tatiana looked towards the crumbling Varyan masses. It was time to leave them. Perhaps this would be the last time Tatiana set her eyes upon the mass grave. Perhaps not, but she had a feeling. The inquisitor dropped her head to view her crimson-ridden hands, still grasping the horn of her friend enclosed in one of her fists. She didn't really have any goals in mind, but Tatiana had been growing cold towards the idea of her warband's imminent journey. This encounter had changed her, though. Something awakened within her. It was like a warm sensation ripping through her being and flaring up to give her cause. She wouldn't know the word for it.

She had to go after him... For one reason or another.

"We need to make haste." Tatiana nodded to Galahad as she spoke, struggling her way over to his side before pushing on into the glacial winds.