How can the great be reduced? That’s not the question. Of course that’s not the question. Redana knows the answer to that one. She’s been reduced so many times herself, and she’s supposed to be great. She’s been small, she’s been captured, she’s even been so ashamed of herself that she stopped being herself. Of course she knows the answer.

She stops at the base of the pyramid and rests one hand against its black stone. It remembers. He remembers. Just like Dany did; just like she tried to forget. At least, that’s her understanding. Maybe she’s projecting. But maybe she’s not.

Then she’s bounding, step by step, up the pyramid, towards Sagakhan, towards ending the battle, but her mother’s eye throbs in her skull, in pity, in sympathy, in concentration. What does it show her? How does it answer the question she did not speak, but her heart is screaming?

The question is not how the great may be reduced. The question is always, [i]always:[/i]

[i]What can I do to help?[/i]

And so often she picks the wrong answer, but not today. Because today she is on the other side of the veil, today she is fighting for Dolce and Vasilia and Alexa and Epistia and the Coherents and Hades himself with his pitying kindness and Bella, Bella, Bella. Today her eye is unlocking deep parts of itself, functions so often held back, systems it doesn’t trust her with, insights it held back out of condescension and love. So today she’ll get it right. For once, she’ll get it right.

[Redana marks [i]Keen Senses[/i], asking a question that must be answered honestly. This one is deliberately broad: point her to where she needs to go.]