Finally, when he was landed on his behind once more, he raised his hands in defeat. Lillian laughed as she walked over to haul him up.

“You’ll beat me one day, I’m sure. But I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

“I can tell,” groaned Frare, rubbing some of the reminders that Lillian had left him with.

“Well, either way, there will be plenty of time for that later,” she said, “you two should be sleeping by now.”

As if on queue, Sorore began to yawn, her twin mirroring her movements. The two clambered into the carriage, sliding onto one side and pulling blankets onto themselves. She drew herself close to her brother, who for all his energy had passed out almost instantly. She liked his scent - it reminded her of the pine grove near their home, but with a copper tang that no bath could seem to absolve him of.

As the paladins decided who was to take the first shift, Sorore close her eyes, and drifted off.

And the dreams began.

She was somewhere she’d seen before, a great hall, with a ceiling so high it faded into darkness before any vault or ridge could be seen. Images and people passed around them, blurred and fading back into ignorance before she could place a name or face. Before her, glowing traceries surged back and further between her hands, light being shaped like glass.

Someone was behind her, someone she trusted - her brother?

“You cannot shift the blame,” said a voice, a woman’s voice.

“I know,” came her own.

“And yet you seal yourself here, away from all of it.”

“I know,” she said again.

There was a terrible remorse and guilt that crushed her heart, one that she couldn’t place.

“So help me,” the voice came one last time.

The scene dissolved before her, like paint running on a canvas splashed with water. The hall disappeared and instead she was on a beach. Grey waters lapped at grey sands underneath an overcast sky, the motion of the waves oddly slow. She was standing a few steps out from the edge of the sea, and beyond, standing in the water, was a shadow.

It was human-like in its character, but was ever shifting, crawling in the air like smoke from a fire. It hovered on the waves, and Sorore knew that it was looking straight at her.

“Who’s there?” she called out to it, but it did not so much as move in response to her request.

She turned and tried to walk away from the thing, up the beach, only to find herself looking once more out to the waters. As the world began to distort and smudge around her, a voice hissed from the abyss, crackling and hungry.

“She is close,” it growled.

And then Sorore’s eyes fluttered open, dry with sleep. It was still dark out, and, if her brother’s vocalizations were any indication, she’d awakened early. Rising herself gently as to not wake him, she tried to remember the dream, quickly fading as it was. All that she managed was a certainty that she’d seen the beach again, and an urge to locate… someone.

She got up, shedding the blanket and, after glancing to confirm neither paladin was in the carriage, she peered out one of the slats. Upon hearing voices she ducked back down, listening intently.

“You heard what I said,” said Niche, some ways away, but still very much audible.

“If you have a problem then say it. I left my patience for those that beat around the bush in Angorrah.”

Sorore could immediately tell by Lillian’s voice that this was not a friendly conversation.

“You are too close to the Bequeathed,” he said, more than a tinge of anger.

“And you are the one to set limits on my interactions with them?” asked Lillian, the casual delivery undercut by a hard edge to the words.

“If you do not have the discipline to place a limit on your maternal instincts, then perhaps the Luteicent will find someone more suited to guardianship,” he hissed.

There was a silence, the kind where you could cut the air with a knife.

“’Maternal instincts’?” she said, lightly enough for Sorore to hold her breath.

“Yes, and I-”

“You will say nothing further, Paladin Niche,” she said, “and if you have a problem with the way I conduct myself, we can sit down and discuss it with Eregoth.”

“You cannot simply-”

“If you’re about to say ‘you’re not a light lord yet’, then that’s fine. We can take it up with our teachers. I’m sure lord Cressen will be happy to hear your opinion on my ‘maternal instincts’.”

“I-”

“That will be all, paladin Niche.”

“You-”

“That will be all. Unless you want to air out which of us is the more senior in front of the commander, right now.”

There was no response, only the sound of one of them, presumably Lillian, walking away. Sorore cracked open the door slightly, glancing to either side. Neither paladin was in the vicinity, much to her relief. As she stepped out, she realized just how early it was, the moon indicating that there was still some way to sun rise.

She walked down to the edge of the village, past the ring of houses, where on a cleared space below lay the army camp. Other than a handful of guards talking the night patrol, there were only a few people, mostly huddled around a fire pit. Deciding there was little better to do, she carefully navigated the icy slope toward them.

A handful of them looked up between bites of rations and conversation, but most seemed to be unsurprised or uninterested by her presence. Before that might’ve shocked her, but Naia’s band of soldiers were different in that way. They seemed to be possessed of far less reverence than the average company, a quality that made the paladins rather hesitant, at least that what Sorore had gleaned.

One of them, sharping a knife with a whetstone, called out to her as she hovered at the edge of the circle.

“Well, come on in then. We’d all get in trouble if you froze out there.”

She came and sat gratefully by the fire, reaching out her hands to warm the rapidly cooling digits.

“So what’s one of the oh-so-holy Bequeathed doing by one of our campfires?” said another one that Sorore recognized. She was a woman with skin like teak, a knight, if Sorore recalled correctly, from the hinterlands of Nieth.

Sorore shrugged, as she watched the man slide the blade across the stone, again and again.

“I’m bored, I guess. Just don’t tell the paladins I said that.”

The round of laughter that issued from the handful of men and women that gathered around the fire served to help Sorore settle in.

“Well, I don’t know about this lot, but they seem to be wary of me,” chuckled the sharpening man.

“They are with everyone,” she said, feeling a need to defend her protectors.

“Ain’t that the truth. From the looks that one gave at the townsfolk, you’d think he was ‘bout to gut them,” said one of the men from across the pit. He was a younger one, wearing an easy grin as he cleaned a pauldron. The rest of the company stared at him in silence, until he began to redden.

“What? You all saw him,” he said, rubbing the shoulder-piece all the harder as his voice became more defensive.

The Hebeenian knight raised an eyebrow as she spoke to her junior.

“You mind your words about the paladins, boy. Else you’ll be on the other end of their swords and believe me, that’s not a place you want to be.”

The boy scoffed, but was unable to meet the eyes of the more experienced soldiers.

“What I believe knight Damafelce was trying to tell you,” said another man, as he emerged from behind a nearby tent, “was that you evaluate your self rather too highly.”

Long black-blue hair along with the various nods, salutes, and glances heralded the coming of Naia. He walked to the edge, behind the young man, who was suddenly preoccupied with what must’ve been a particularly stubborn piece of dirt. Unfortunately, his focused inattention did nothing to stop Naia from setting next to him, offering the rest of the group a smile and a nod to Sorore.

“My lady,” he said, “I did not expect to see you here alone.”

“I seem to have misplaced my paladins,” she giggled.

“I see. Well, hopefully these beleaguered souls among us will prove to be about as worthy,” he said, with a conspicuous glance to the younger knight.

“What news, commander?” said Damafelce, leaning back on the log she sat on.

“Little and less, I’m afraid. No sightings of anything beyond a customary animal or two,” he said.

Several of the soldiers groaned, Damafelce sweeping her head sweep back to see the stars.

“We’ve been riding for over three weeks,” she said, “when will we actually get to kill something beyond a rabbit?”

Naia laughed, then coughed.

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance soon enough. I believe that we are going to proceed to the Frozen Vale.”

There was not small amount of cheering when they heard that, though muted due to the early hour.

“Out of curiosity, what exactly are we going to find?” Sorore interjected.

“You haven’t been told?” yawned Damafelce.

“Well, I know that its evil,” she said with complete certainty. The paladins had provided that much information, at least.

Naia said nothing as the others looked around, as if gauging whether it would be acceptable to tell the girl.

“Well, we’re not exactly sure,” he began, slowly, the flames dancing in his blue-green eyes, “we’re mostly operating on myth and conjecture from the villages on the Stairway, or staircase, depending on which mapmaker you ask.”

“So you’re heading into the Vale based on… stories?” Sorore frowned.

“Not quite. There’s been enough proof presented to the Choir that the deemed an investigation was necessary.”

Sorore digested the information as she stared into the fire. If the Choir had ordained it necessary to send an subjugation force it must’ve been convincing. She was about to ask what exactly was the point for them coming along, other than her brother’s constant badgering, when she heard trudging footprints behind her.

“There you are,” said Lillian, “I was worried about you, my lady.”

“Paladin Lillian,” said Naia, respectfully bowing his head, his men following suite.

Lillian gave him the same respectful gesture, but with a slightly sour look. Still rather irritated with the incident in the forest no doubt.

“You’d best go with the Paladin, lady Sorore. We all have a lot of preparation to do,” said Naia, as he eyed the fire.