Besca stared up at the screen, watching as [i]Ablaze[/i] dropped to a knee and the light dimmed in its eye. Voices picked up around her again, but this time there was no cheering, just wild confusion. She…hadn’t done it. She hadn’t killed Roaki. But it was plain as day to anyone with eyes—and anyone watching through the hundreds of eyes in the sky—that [i]Blotklau[/i] was down for the count. Was this…allowed? It couldn’t be. Besca had never seen anything like this. Ever. There had been survivors before, but they’d lived through fluke, not mercy. You didn’t [i]spare[/i] people in duels, it just wasn’t the way things were done. And yet, it was done. Her eye wandered to another screen, the news where a handful of unfortunate reporters who hadn’t gotten clearance to cover the duel were instead covering the minor twin singularities. Duds, apparently. They’d been open all morning and nothing had come through them. She’d never seen that before, either. What was that, then? Two miracles in a single day? She smiled. “Darroh!” Toussaint said, storming over to her. “Darroh what the [i]hell[/i] is going on? What is she doing? It’s not over!” “[color=gray]Yeah. Yeah, it is.[/color]” “She’s not [i]dead[/i]!” Besca shrugged. “So then get back on the line with her and tell her to finish the fucking job!” “[color=gray]Nah,[/color]” she said, and walked past him, turning her attention to the crew. “[color=gray]Oi, go get my girl out of there. She won. We’re going home.[/color]” [hr][hr] The dark was cold and angry. It was thick, and tried to hold her down in the seat as if it had arms, as if the arms were hers. She could feel indignance from it, confusion, but mostly it was angry at her. How could she? How [i]dare[/i] she? This was their purpose, this was what they had been born for. [color=black]LISTEN TO ME[/color] it raged, but beneath that it was pleading. [color=black]DON’T GO[/color] But Quinn went. She opened the cockpit’s door, and the daze from her phasing paired with how long she’d been in the pitch made the sun an angry glare for more than a few moments. Her thigh stung, but she could tell it and the little sore knicks across her body weren’t real, and with every moment the world grew clearer, the pain faded as well. She walked out onto [i]Ablaze[/i]’s shoulder, into a world of smoke and ash and dying ivory fires. And ichor. God, it was everywhere; splattered across her Savior’s body, pooling beneath [i]Blotklau[/i], and strewn all over the hills. A rank smell, metallic and…brine? Brine, and home. Paint—white paint on four walls no windows no doorknob no— The shroud returned. It closed around her like a hug, grudging and unsatisfied, but present. It took hold of the burgeoning panic within her, as it had taken hold of her pain, and it [i]sank[/i]. It sank deep into her mind, not to drown, but to tread water. With every moment, every breath she took, it grew more distant from her, and she more numb to it. It would be back. We would face it together. Staring off into the horizon, she could see little dots traversing the hills, drawing closer. They were coming to get her—to take her home. She’d done it. Quinnlash Loughvein had won her duel without taking a life. The drones swarmed above her, buzzing, excited. Something new had happened today, and it wasn’t clear yet, not to her, not to anyone, what that would mean. But she’d done it. It was actually over. [color=black]GET BACK INSIDE[/color] So clear, it was almost like she was still connected. The words came to her with dreadfully familiar urgency, only last time, they’d said something else. They’d told her to [color=black]RUN[/color] [color=black]GET BACK INSIDE[/color] [color=black]QUINN GET BACK INSIDE. RECONNECT.[/color] “[color=gray][i]—Quinn get back in! Get back in now![/i][/color]” Besca’s voice was frightful, panicked. But what? What was it? [i]Blotklau[/i] remained still behind her, and there was nothing else but the drones and the approaching convoy. Except…except she couldn’t see the convoy anymore. She hadn’t lost it, she knew where it was coming from, but at the same time it was just…gone. No, not gone, [i]hidden[/i]. There, some ways ahead of her, between her and them, the air was strange. Strange, and shimmering, almost mirrorlike. It flexed and undulated with liquid motions, but with every moment that passed she saw her own Savior’s reflection there, hovering in thin air as the edges around it grew more and more [i]real[/i]. [color=black]THEY’RE COMING. GET. BACK. INSIDE.[/color] [i]Ablaze’s[/i] reflection changed. Its shape was different, its posture, and its eyes…red. Awake. The realization struck her then, on one side of the moment, that it wasn’t her reflection at all. But it was familiar. So terribly familiar. And on the other side of that moment, the air shattered, and a Modir came walking from the void of a singularity. It was tall, and donned from its shoulders was an iron cloak that ran down one side. In its uncovered hand it held a blade with a sharp cross guard and a fuller blazing with white light. It was the swordsman.