The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 14: Blinding Light

“Omniscience is a myth. No one can know everything, not even the Gods. A truth they work hard to hide. There are… blindspots in the Divine’s purview. Places in Time and Space muddled to the Pantheon's sight. In these creases, the objective morality enforced by the Gods falls apart. Here a mortal may do the unspeakable and not worry for their soul. Confident the Gods cannot know the truth of what happened. Gods, who, in their mercy, refuse to render judgment on the unknown. A loophole those clever and privileged enough to understand this Blindspot exploit gleefully.” - Collected words of Amal the Apostate.

Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes and praying for the combat drug to kick back in, Cole followed the spindly Priest, apparently named Luka. While Alia and the two Nobles tagged along behind them. The Nobles, Delia, and Jaerd had tried to slip away unsuccessfully. Only earning the watchful focus of the City Warden for their efforts.

Tired and burned out by his efforts, Cole tried to ground himself by focusing on the Fourth Temple's interior. Unlike the Tenth Temple's narrow halls of dark stone, the center of Sister Sun’s worship was a bright and airy place. Cream-colored stone, warm woods, mixed with lots of gilded inlays. While an ornate mix of mirrors, windows, and glowstones kept the wide halls bright and gleaming. A welcome respite after the dark of the Tunnels.

Rubbing a little of the exhaustion from his eyes, Cole asked the Priest Luka: “A riot? What’s happening?”

Luka glanced up at the towering Paladin and audibly swallowed. “We don’t really know. But from what I hear, one of the Werefolk nomads took… liberties with a Tavern worker. Some locals took objection to that and started gathering in Salmon Square to demand the Werefolk be banned from the city. Stuff escalated quickly from that.”

Growling an oath, Cole cracked his neck and traced his axe and the recovered arrow. A deep cold tug in his gut told him Saint Arka’s Arrow had another role to play in all of this. The Gods often built the future like one of those Concordian puzzle-paintings. Slipping seemingly random pieces into place and making a piece of art. Cole just hoped this particular piece was a pleasant one.

Coming up from the Temples sublevels, they passed clinic wards filled with the injured. Frantic Priests scurried between bedsides while more and more wounded piled into the Temple. Moving past the Riots effects, they reached a large set of oaken doors emblazoned with a whirling Sun disk. The inner Fane of the Temple. Where the High Priests and other ranking Holy Folk did their work.

Luka scurried up to the door and turned to Cole. “Let me go and see if the Radiants can grant your audience.”

Cole raised a tattered eyebrow at that. While every God had a unique title for their Supreme Priests, their Hierophants, they were rarely used outside Ceremony or Festival. But that wasn’t the main thing that bothered him. Radiants or similar Supreme Priests are gifted with incredible magical power. The type of power that could end this whole mess with relative ease. Cole had once seen a Hierophant of Master Time freeze an entire Lake solid with a word. Trapping the army of Draugr currently climbing out of said lake in ice. So why weren’t these Radiants helping heal people or quell the Riot?

Looking at Alia Cat-Eyes, Cole gestured vaguely. “Get yourself, and the Nobles treated for any contamination. Hopefully, this won’t take long. Ignoring Luka’s protests, Cole pushed open the Sun disk door and entered the Temple Fane. The chamber was circular in shape. With a conical roof going up to a brilliant Glowstone cut so its light made dappled patterns upon the floor. Murals of gold and silver danced along the walls and at the center was an altar of amber shaped like a sunburst. Around the altar were four figures in bright robes in the middle of a fierce argument.

“WE JUST CAN’T SIT HERE! IT’S A-” bellowed one of the Radiants, ending just as they noticed Cole’s entrance. Luka scurried in after the Paladin and caught the yelling Hierophant’s attention. “Priest Luka, you intrude on a cloistered meeting. I assume you have a good reason.”

Before Luka could answer, Cole raised up his amulet. “Radiants of Vindabon. I am Paladin Cole of Master Time. I come with crucial information and a plea for assistance.”

One of the Hierophants stepped forward. A tall, androgynous figure Cole recognized. Priest Robyn, an Eclipse Dancer, and the Priest who’d represented Sister Sun at the meeting to discuss Cole’s arrival. Slim and beautiful, it was impossible to tell Robyn’s gender. Which Cole guessed was part of being a Dancer. The Eclipse Dancers were a sacred order of Priests belonging to both Sister Sun and Brother Moon who oversaw rituals of transfiguration. Healing those whose souls and flesh did not match. Many Dancers used these rites to alter themselves to be neither fully masculine nor feminine. Reflecting their duties and the divine relationship the Eclipse represented.

Raising a single narrow eyebrow, Robyn intoned: “Paladin Cole, if you come with word of the Riot, know we are more than aware.”

Shaking his head, Cole scoffed. “Believe me, Hierophant, I wish I was. Instead, I come to report the discovery, and death of a Demon beneath your city streets.”

Shock spread between the Radiants in a ripple of bright fabric. Cole rubbed his lengthening hair and elaborated. “In my efforts to solve the recent Murders, I discovered an ancient Demon nesting beneath Vindabon. It had recently awakened from hibernation and started gathering a Cult around itself. With the help of the Weinstadt Guards, I dealt with both Demon and cult. But to properly cleanse the tunnels and any lingering corruption, I’ll need your help.”

One of the Priests, this one an old woman with the look of beauty aged to grace, snapped at Cole. “A Demon? We would have detected it. The Wards of the City would know if anything like that infested our home. The darkness leaking from it would easily register.”

Sighing slightly, Cole went up to the altar and dropped the arrow onto the polished amber. Ancient wood and metal clattered against rose-gold sap. The argumentative Priestess started to say something, but her words died as the Arrow started to glow. Softly at first, like the faint light of the summer evening through lush leaves. But growing into a brilliance matching the Glowstone above them.

With uncertain fingers, Radiant Robyn reached out toward the relic. The arrow rolled away just as their digits were about to trace its shining shaft. Repelled like a pellet of iron facing magnetite. The arrow skidded along the amber altar and returned close to where Cole stood. Understanding the message, Cole snatched up the artifact and gestured to the Hierophants like a Teacher and their pointer.

“Saint Arka sealed away this Demon. I found this relic impaling it’s body and keeping the Demon trapped. Your Wards could not detect an abnormality because there was none to detect. That Demon had been down there since before old King Carolus forged his crown.”

Nodding slowly, Robyn said, “The Eighth Arrow has returned to us. Mayhaps the Goddess might grant us a boon in wake of all this tragedy.”

Setting the arrow back down, Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Why have you not all intervened in this Riot? Surely ending this mess is within your power.”

The Priest, who had been yelling when Cole entered, gestured at the Paladin. “See! The Rest-Bringer speaks the truth! We should leave and bring the Light to this darkest night!”

The fourth Priest, this on an old woman so withered she looked almost ossified, rasped. “While the Caul wraps around Vindabon, we cannot intervene. To do so would invite disaster. You know this, Deitri.”

Deitri scoffed and ran fingers through silver-blond hair. “Disaster is already upon us, Eldest Diana! We should not let this… phenomena nor the city's orders govern us!”

Diana brought her cane down on the floor with a harsh crack. Only then did Cole realize her eyes had been shut this entire time. Opening them, she showed spheres of glowing amber in place of flesh. This Priestess Diana was well on her way to becoming an Anchorite if she did not meet Master Time first.

“Deitri, your zeal to do good is commendable. Exactly what one of our station should aspire to in any other situation. But this is not a normal situation. A Caul smothers the City, birthed from all that emotion and confusion. Blinding the Gods sight and keeping us trammeled.”

Rubbing his eyes and willing his exhaustion to wait a few more hours, Cole asked. “A Caul ? Even if the Gods cannot see the Riot accurately, that shouldn’t stop you from acting.”

Eldest Diana clicked her tongue and gave Cole a look he assumed she spared for especially thick Acolytes. “You clearly weren’t a Priest before you took up the Mantle were you? The power a Priest uses is not their own; it is a God’s power, only channeled through their worshippers. Your gifts are enmeshed into your soul, giving you more agency and responsibility than a Priest. Without the Gods’ direct oversight, we risk error and backlash. If you make a mistake, it will mar your soul. If we do, Sister Sun will pay for our transgression.”

Diana’s words conjured up stories of Fallen Priests and Divine Taboo. Those who perverted a God's power and caused untold calamity. A perversion in part responsible for the Bloody Centuries. Misuse of Miracles had forced the Gods into a state of inaction. They were so busy trying to restore order in their own domains and prevent infernal contamination they couldn’t aid the World as it burned. A mark of shame still carried by Deity and Priest alike even all this time later.

Glancing at Deitri, Diana continued speaking. “But even if we cannot help quell this riot, we can still aid you, Paladin. Deitri I am tasking you with cleansing the Warrens. Bring the Dawn to those festering depths and help the Paladin in any way you can. But be careful; our hands are unsteady as long as the Caul exists.”

Picking up the Arrow, grabbing all four Hierophant’s attention. Cole asked. “So the rest of you intend to stay here while people suffer and die? Surely using a fraction of your invested power in targeted ways is possible? At least join your subordinates in healing the wounded!”

Diana fixed Cole with a stare hard as frozen sunlight. “We are not idle, Paladin. We and our fellows across the city work to break this Caul . Cleaning the Beyond of spiritual film and ending this madness. Besides, our students are more than capable. If the situation escalates and the City gives us the command, we will use our investment like you say. Until then, we have other duties.”

Shrugging and trying to ignore his head's throb, Cole set the arrow down and spoke to Deitri. “There are some Guards still down in the Warrens with a large number of bodies that need to be recovered. The tunnels are infested with Hellspawn, but they should be dying off relatively quickly without the Demon to support them.” pausing and looking at his hands Cole continued, “I suspect parasitic Hellspawn have gotten into me and the others. We will need to be cleansed.”

Eldest Diana answered before Deitri could. “You show no signs of taint, Paladin. Your Mantle or… something else protects you.`` The Priestess left something unsaid in her words, and Cole swallowed nervously. Anchorites or Priests close to being Anchorites could see into the Beyond. The old Priestess had clearly seen something odd about his soul. One as aged and experienced as her had doubtlessly known Paladins before, stripping him of that excuse. Turning to leave before more questions could be asked. Cole was interrupted by the sound of rattling wood and the clink of something falling.

All eyes in the Fane turned to see the Arrow of Saint Arka. It had slipped along the Amber Altar and followed after Cole. Priest Robyn reached down and picked up the Arrow. The moment it was in their grip, it shot forward. Cole barely caught the projectile with calloused hands. Looking at their fingers and to Cole, the Eclipse Dancer said. “The Eighth Arrow has business yet with you, Sir Paladin. Please return it to us when that business is done.”

Alia tried to join Radiant Deitri in rescuing Iron-Teeth and the others but was denied. Instead forced to join the wounded from the Riot and receive treatment alongside the Nobles. Not protected like Cole was, Cat-Eyes needed to be cleansed magically. Any infection or mutation purged by the Temple’s miracle. Even without Cat-Eyes, the second expedition into the Warrens was well staffed. Dietri the fiery Hierophant had assembled a group of Priests, Battle Clerics, and trusted volunteers to start the cleansing operation.

The news of a Demon and its historic pedigree was enough to force the Temple out of its strange stasis. Those uncertain about Eldest Diana’s orders quickly poured themselves into Deitri’s work. Something Cole suspected the canny old Priestess had planned. Cole watched as the quickly assembled force prepared to brave the Warrens. He and Cat-Eyes had given them as much instruction as possible, but Cole still felt it was lacking. Cole would much prefer to join them, but the steady tug of his soul and the arrow tucked to his chest told him his purpose was elsewhere.

Radiant Dietri looked back at Cole, a frown on his creased face. “Are you certain you won’t join us, Sir Paladin?”

Shaking his head, Cole grimaced. “Believe me, I’d rather join you. But I have other duties to attend to. Just follow the Glowpaste and watch for the Black Coral.”

Nodding, Dietri set out, a score of steel-sworn Priests at his back. Unwilling to waste any more time, Cole left the Temple of Sister Sun. Pushing past the crowd of petitioners and panicked people, Cole followed the cloud of smoke and the sound of screams. The Fourth Temple hadn’t been too terribly close to the heart of the chaos, but signs of strife and shock were still obvious. Most blatant was the stream of citizens moving in a limping trickle toward the Temple.

In that melancholy mass, Cole saw every manner of person. All fleeing towards the safety of the nearest Temple. Driven from homes or businesses by the storm of wrath, Cole now followed. The combat drug had finally returned to full potency, and Cole could run through the streets of Vindabon unburdened by exhaustion. Even lacking his cloak, Cole was an intimidating sight and he had no problem passing by pedestrians. All but the most stunned or belligerent moving out of his way.

It didn’t take Cole long to reach the Woad Way. The main road that led from its namesake gate to Salmon Square. Coming out from a side street, Cole felt like he’d stepped from Vindabon into some sacked city from the history texts. Cooling blood pooled on the cobblestones. Contesting with lumps of debris and piles of refuse littered throughout the main thoroughfare. Debris, washed up there by the tide of a city's rage. Cole’s boots cracked and crunched with every step. Shattered glass from hundreds of windows coating the ground. While a dozen fires burned just where Cole could see. Some were born of the refuse piles, others had entire buildings as kindling.

Cole passed a burning home, every instinct told him to join the small bucket brigade working to douse the fire. But the command of two Gods hung heavy about his soul. He might do some good helping put out an errant spark. Or he could help douse this entire inferno. It itched at Cole’s soul, and he paused momentarily. Looking down at his hands, he thought about what he was. Sure he could spend hours helping ferry water to the fire like a mundane mortal. But he wasn’t a mundane mortal. He had power, not enough to shake the world, but enough to make a difference. He needed to stop thinking in terms of normalcy. A normal person would need to choose between the burning house or the burning city. He didn’t.

Stepping towards the flaming building, Cole saw heads swivel to face him. He saw fear and uncertainty in the dozen or so people hauling water. Clad in armor and covered in scars, Cole knew he must make an intimidating sight. Answering their worries with gentle words, he said “I’m here to help.”

That eased some of the tension, just for them to return in force. As Cole stepped past the bucket brigade and moved toward the flames. Voices behind him called out, confused and worried. Cole ignored them, his mind focusing on the complicated magic he was about to perform. He’d never tried a blood magic spell this complicated and had no clue if it would work. All he had was hope and a prayer. The two things Cole found himself increasingly relying on.

Ignoring the panicked shouts behind him, Cole cut his hand and thrust it into the flames. Arcane words bubbled from his lips as fire and blood mixed.

“Red fire, red fire! My call is dire! Leap from this pyre and into my palm! I will send you higher, so listen to this Psalm!”

Flames licked at his blood like an inquisitive hound, and orange tongues turned blood-red. Red flames spread, converting its kindred into more of itself. Soon the entire blaze was the color of Cole’s ichor and was pulling away from the structure. Leaking down the building and surrounding him. Pulled from the available fuel and dancing around Cole like frolicking spirits. With his other trembling hand, Cole channeled the flames. Sending them up and away from the building in a great column of scarlet flames. The inferno danced in the empty sky for a few seconds before fading away, denied any fuel.

Panting, Cole went over to one of the stunned bucket carriers and grabbed his pail from him. Without ceremony, Cole held the bucket to his lips and let its cold draught pour into his mouth and over him. He’d managed to avoid being burned, but his momentary cradle of fire had dried him out like a smoked fish. Gasping in relief, not even caring how the cold water chilled his flesh, Cole handed the pail back to the stunned carrier. Seeing the fire was completely extinguished, Cole nodded to himself and continued on his way. At least he could still rely on his blood magic if he had to.

Alone on the Woad Way, Cole let himself brood on Eldest Diana’s words and the existence of a Caul over Vindabon. He’d never witnessed or been under one before and had no clue how it would effect his powers. When facing the Demon, he’d been untrammeled, but that was no guarantee. During a Caul , the Gods feared the misuse of their power. Fearing their Priests might accidentally or Fixed-Stars-Forbid, intentionally harm an innocent. Cole suspected the Pantheon might not be so cautious when dealing with Hellkyn. There was very little moral gray when Demons were involved. ‘Burn it all and let the Gods sort it out’ was a legitimate stance in those cases. Stopping a Riot, by contrast, was not nearly as clean-cut.

Normally Cole would conjure up some Cold or another minor display of power to test this, but he doubted his soul could handle it. Fighting a Demon had not been an easy feat for a relatively weak Paladin like himself. Cole had maybe one more true miracle left in him. An effort that would probably kill him, expending his soul like in the fight with Petar the Feeder. While Cole was confident, he could survive such an act. He would risk exposing his immortality or experience side effects. Useful as his new strength was, Cole was not eager to roll that set of dice again and see what happened.

A nearby crash and wail pulled Cole from his worries. Glass from a storefront exploded out onto the cobblestones, and two figures stumbled out of the building. One was carrying a large case with both hands, and the other had a crude club held up. Both were young men, twenty five at the latest. But neither showed much sign of cleaning or grooming. Cole caught sight of jaundiced energy in the eyes of the club-wielder. The sick mania of a petty monster. It reminded Cole of the Cultists below the City. Unwelcome memories of broken flesh and screaming corruption came forth. Till Cole forced them back into the recesses of his mind with an effort.

The two thieves ran towards Cole, and he saw a third figure stumbling out of the shop window behind them. A middle-aged man with an ugly gash above one eye, clad in soiled night clothes and holding a limp arm. Howling to the night, the older man screamed. “Give it back! Give it back you Bastards!’

Slowing slightly, Cole let out a sigh. Reaching down to a nearby pile of debris, Cole fished out an arms-length of wood. Giving it an experimental swing or two, he moved to intercept the two criminals. The first, the one with the sick eyes, gave Cole an ugly leer. Letting out a wild whoop, he swung his club down towards Cole’s head. The Paladin cleanly sidestepped and let the thief slam himself into his makeshift weapon. Even without any added force behind it the wooden shaft knocked the Clubber down.

Gasping for air, the Clubber looked up at Cole. The Paladin ended the ‘fight’ without any malice or even much effort, driving his stick down with a light blow. He snapped the length of wood over the Clubber’s ribs. Still unable to make a noise, the Clubber just thrashed in pain. Glancing over his ‘foe,’ Cole nodded in approval. The Clubber would be sore for the next week, but nothing worse than that.

Moving to the box-carrier, Cole looked at the new contender. This one lacked the zeal of the other. Guided more by opportunism than a desire for chaos like his comrade. Box-Carrier had come to a complete stop and didn’t even resist when Cole pulled the stolen loot from his clammy hands. Unwilling to tangle with Cole, Box-Carrier scurried off, leaving the Paladin with the reclaimed treasure. The box was light in Cole’s grip. It couldn’t have held much. Going back to the bleeding store-owner, Cole set the box down in the window display.

To his utter surprise, the Store-owner reached out and clasped one of Cole’s arms. Tears bubbled up in the man’s eyes. “Thank you! Thank you! Those damned fools grabbed my daughter's Wedding Dress! Thought it had to be valuable because I wouldn’t give it over. Oh, thank you so much!”

Nodding, Cole turned to leave. “Go to the nearest Temple if you can. They are treating the wounded.”

The Store-Owner nodded. “Thank you again, but I’d rather stay here. Not risk the streets with fools like those two loose on them!”

Shrugging, Cole returned to his journey. Taking a few minutes to help where he could but never staying anywhere for too long. Tarrying only to scare off a few looters, help move some debris trapping someone, and giving directions to a disoriented gaggle of youths.

Soon the Woad Gate came into view. As he approached, Cole glanced at the massive mural covering the wall above the gate. He gave it a second closer glance as he noticed something off about it. Barely visible in the low light was a line going straight up the mural. A thin stretch of what almost looked like pockmarks going from above the Gate to the walls top. Wondering what could have possibly caused that, Cole moved to the Gate.

It was open, something else to add to Cole’s list of confusion. He’d expected to find the Rioters near it, not beyond it. The fact they’d passed out of the city sent a chill up Cole’s spine. Surely someone would have shut the gate once they knew what the rioters intended? Glancing back down the road, he’d come and then back out the gate; Cole licked his lips nervously. Eldest Diana had said the city had told the Priests to hold back. Something he’d not paid much attention to till now. But the implications now hung heavy. The Woad Gate had been opened for the mob. Some power in the City had hampered Vindabons own efforts to stop this madness. Who would do such a thing?

Pushing towards the Gate, Cole was surprised to see no Guards or stragglers. The City’s exit was left unguarded. Running fingers along the haft of his axe, Cole cursed. “Salt-in-Wounds this isn’t good.”

Leaving the City without any objections or obstructions, Cole kept running. He hadn’t realized the mob had already left Vindabon. He’d assumed they wouldn’t make it this far. Being turned back by the walls and left to vent their rage on the City until order was restored. Now a more terrible prospect than burning buildings and looted stores swam into being. What… what if the Rioters actually reached the Werefolk?

The idea seemed absurd to Cole. He’d dealt with mobs before, and they always went after weak targets. People or places they thought were within their power. By their nature, a Riot or Angry Mob was many people without much power united in a singular violent goal. Using numbers to do what they individually could not. A twisted parliament of sorts, dispensing ‘punishment’ as the masses saw fit. But the Moonmoot wasn’t a reasonable target for the Mob's anger. It was a gathering of Bloody Werefolk! Cole had worried the Riot would kill or drive out any Werefolk within Vindabon. Persecuting an internal minority, they viewed as culpable for the murders. Not attacking a clan-alliance of thousands. Especially not one with Magic and Monsters at their disposal.

A thunderous roar from the Avar Woods, followed by distant screams, told Cole his fears had been confirmed. Stopping out of sheer surprise, Cole remembered words Isabelle had once shared with him.

“Darling, because you are smart enough to know something is a bad idea. Doesn’t mean everyone is. People tend to be stupid, cowardly, and short-sighted creatures. Especially when they let their emotions rule them.”

Cole had learned to temper the cold pragmatic wisdom Isabelle had imparted in him. But sometimes, her aloof pessimism had its place. As more screams and roars echoed through the forest Cole had to admit perhaps now was such a time.

Reaching down to the arrow, Cole felt its warm wood. Pulling it out of his undertunic, Cole looked at the relic. The polished metal of the arrowhead gleamed unnaturally bright. Staring at its gilded edge, Cole felt like he was being pulled toward it. Like some monolithic ocean current was sucking him into that crisp edge of metal. Entranced, he felt its shimmering steel grow warm. Rolling it in his palm, Cole saw the reflected light grow brighter and brighter with each rotation. Until its shine drowned out everything.

A whirling mess of experiences burned against Cole’s mind like the afterimage of the Sun clinging to the eyelids.

*A wiry woman clad in ornate armor with long amber hair holds a shining bow aloft. She mutters a prayer and nocks a familiar arrow.*

*The arrow flies free, catching golden sunlight as it spins. Passing over the heads of haggard warriors and striking a nightmare-given-form*

*Black tar is split, and infernal flesh sunders as a giant of ossified rot falls into a smoking chasm*

*Other arrows fly; these made of drab steel and loosed by blindfolded priests. These land among both Monsters and Mortals. Slaying both, and staining the Priests with blood, colored red and black.*

Sucking in a breath of air, Cole blinked away the visions and looked at the arrow in his grip. He’d been shown bits of the past mixed in with metaphor. A Divine Portent clear to him or anyone else skilled in reading such messages.

“You can’t aim your power with the Caul . You need someone who can direct it without doing harm,” whispered Cole.

“Nothing actually stops you from interfering, just your own fear of hurting yourself and us. You… you need someone trusted implicitly. A Saint… or a Paladin.”

Thrusting the arrow up into the air, Cole swallowed. “You are trusting me with your life, so I guess I should do the same, Sister Sun.”

Cole felt a warm breath on the back of his neck. It made him shiver in pleasant recollection as a gentle voice whispered. “You are a good man, Cole of Atredia. Even in the darkest shadows, you kept to your oath. Shine my light, and show those who stray the truth of things.”

Cole understood then what he needed to do. The truth came to him like words folded in beams of sunlight. Holding the Arrow aloft, he let his soul pour into it. He’d roused the relic’s power once before to help face the Demon. Now he tried something different. The Caul over Vindabon blinded the Pantheon, keeping them from seeing clearly. His soul, flavored with the divine but not truly of the Beyond, could act as a peephole into existence. One the Tenth God had decided to share with the Fourth. Cole was normally the tool of Master Time, an instrument of his will. Today he was a Bow. Drawn back and aimed by Sister Sun, trusting him to guide her power without breaking his word or her purpose.

Golden light exploded out of Arrowhead, a second Sun that stung Cole’s eyes even through their lids. Feeling the light shine out, Cole felt his senses travel with it. Everything touched by that illumination he could see or feel. Curious trees wondering if spring had come early. Startled rioters shielding their eyes. Snarling Werebeasts sniffed the air, seeking new prey. And a lonely Vampire at the top of a tree, covering her face to avoid the scalding light.

Cole’s mind started to twist and bend under the information. Too much, too quickly, flowed into his brain. Pouring out of it as quickly as it came. Like a wash tub trying to catch a river in its mouth. Clenching his jaw so hard his teeth creaked, Cole felt the arrowhead start to vibrate. A low hum that sent ripples through the divine light surrounding them. The hum grew and grew, becoming clearer and sharper. Transfiguring into a pure note even the greatest Sopranos would struggle to match.

That note was not the end of this transformation. It split and schismed into other sounds. A choir of Seraphs mixed with the ringing of mighty bells. Before finally revealing itself in truth. It was a voice. A voice not meant for this part of existence. A voice its owner chose to mutilate and stunt just so the listeners could survive it. But a voice it was. As great and terrible as the Sun itself.

*SHAME*

*WASTED BLOOD, WASTED LIFE*

*SHAME*

*TEARS OF GOLD, TEARS OF SILVER*

*SHAME*

*CHILDREN BORN, CHILDREN CHOSEN, TOGETHER*

*SHAME*

*ASHAMED, GRIEVING, SORROWFUL*

*SHAME!*

The words were in every language and none. Cole heard them in Saint-Speech, Western, and Old Imperial at the same time. In all three tongues the meanings were the same. A message to the rioters from the Gods. One as simple as it was direct. Even though the Caul , the Pantheon had seen enough. They would not render judgment, but that did not mean they weren’t ashamed of what they’d seen.

Cole felt the light start to dim. His purpose in this affair was fulfilled. As the light of the Fourth Goddess left the arrow, Cole felt part of his soul go with it. He’d used himself all up. Fighting a Demon and now channeling a Goddess’s words. The flame had died, leaving nothing but ash and cinder. As darkness started to overtake him, Cole let out a weary breath and looked to the arrow in his hand. It was also burnt, its wood, charcoal, its head, slag. Muttering to himself, he said. “A pair we make then?” and tumbled forward.

Just as he hit the ground, he caught sight of a figure running towards him. A bolt of fear went through Cole’s dying heart. If someone saw him die and resurrect… The strife that would unleash would make this night’s tumult seem tame.

Eyes glazing over, Cole heard the figure call his name. He knew that voice, didn’t he? Its sweet melody and the Duchy accent was so familiar. He knew who it belonged to. He just couldn’t… place it.

As the last embers of his life blew out, Cole shut his eyes and found the name he was looking for. It escaped his lips with a final breath.

“Natalie”