Following their clash with Parlon, Cyrona felt it best to return to Ceuna with Rithys to aid in Rithys's recovery. Manifesting in Rithys's sanctum, Cyrona watched the Night Angel slink away and lay directly on the proxy of the smaller of her two moons rather than float above it as she normally would. Cyrona knew not what to say to Rithys after the torture Parlon inflicted upon her. To be made helpless and Parlon forced men to kill each other and themselves was too much for Cyrona to contemplate. She even began to wonder why she struck an accord with Parlon given his endless duplicity.

"I have a confession to make," Rithys murmured, her ebony skin shimmering in the moonlight. "Please, come closer."

Cyrona obliged, floating to Rithys's left and holding out her hand so that Rithys could grasp it. After some moments, Rithys clasped Cyrona's watery hand with her smooth stony black stone hand.

"Go on, Rithys, you know perfectly well that you can tell me anything that troubles you," Cyrona said tenderly.

Rithys's milky white eyes looked lightly at the Water Angel and then back to the endless void of the night sky above them.

"I never wanted to fight. I want to avoid this war. I thought if I damaged both Parlon and myself, I could be spared from being involved anymore," she whimpered. "It has all been too terrible to endure. I want it to end."

Cyrona grasped Rithys's hand harder and tugged to gain Rithys's attention.

"Look at me," Cyrona requested. Rithys did not comply. "Rithys, look at me. Please," she repeated. Grudgingly, Rithys turned her head and looked at Cyrona with her vacant, forlorn eyes. It was as difficult a sight to experience as any grotesque atrocity on the battlefield. "Not one of us who stayed loyal to Forynda wanted what has transpired, not even me. I felt that it would have to come to war at some point in the future and preferred that we be done with it as soon as possible. I have been shocked by the horror of it as much as you have. But it is inescapable as withdrawal means turning the entire mortal world over to Parlon and possibly worse."

"I understand that..." Rithys muttered.

"To stop that, the mortals need you. And I need you," Cyrona implored her, clasping the Night Angel's hand even tighter than before. "There was a reason I asked Vorlan to ensure you were with me there. I agonize that it resulted in such pain for you, but I can only hope that you understand why I felt it necessary. Despite what happened, I hope that you still trust my judgment."

During a pause, Rithys's eyes went dark for the briefest of moments. What followed felt as though it lasted an eon. Utter blackness. Not a single sensation. Time passed without anything to mark it.

"And what of those things I have seen? And of which Parlon warned you?" Rithys's voice at last pulled Cyrona back into the present moment. It was only because Cyrona saw Rithys still bore her injuries from her fight against Parlon that she could be sure that time had not slipped away from her by millennia. "He lies so often, but I fear he tells the truth here. If even there is a chance he is right, that is too terrible to contemplate."

Shaken by the glimpse of the void she saw yet again, Cyrona paused. The waters comprising her body ran still for some moments. To avoid further upsetting Rithys, she summoned the resolve to answer Rithys's query.

"What he says is impossible, Rithys, and it often occurs to me that each one of these profound revelations in our recent past has somehow involved him. Only one of us was ever cast into the void and that was Nethron by Forynda, who no longer possesses the power to do it," Cyrona attempted to reassure Rithys, but she wondered if she was merely trying to reassure herself. "Suppose that power is restored to Forynda. Do you truly think it would ever be used against me? By Forynda? I would sooner throw myself into the void, if that were possible, than ever betray Forynda's trust."

Rithys stared blankly back at Cyrona. The Water Angel saw her waters ripple as a reflection in Rithys's eyes without a sound passing between them for some moments.

"Simel also told me..." Rithys started, but Cyrona squeezed her hand to make her stop.

"Simel," Cyrona scoffed. "I can think of three times he has been correct and three hundred when he has not. The strange glimpses he has of future events are always fragmentary and often mean nothing."

Rithys had no response and glanced away from Cyrona.

"I just want to be sure nothing happens to you," the Night Angel said at last. "I cannot bear the thought."

"Put your mind at ease, Rithys," Cyrona said warmly and stroked her hand across Rithys's face, leaving a trace of cool water droplets across Rithys's ebony skin. "There will be nothing like what you fear, I promise you. Now, please rest while I see Forynda."

Rithys said nothing more as Cyrona left in a whir of light and traveled to Forynda's sanctum. When she appeared, she saw Forynda seated on her gleaming throne, her rapier laid across her legs and her eyes closed. The High Angel had spoken to Cyrona only three times since the Progenitor stripped the Golden Aura from her. In each instance, Forynda seemed slightly more herself than the time before, but she was still only a shade of her ordinary presence.

"Cyrona," Forynda greeted the Water Angel, her eyes still closed as she spoke. "I saw your battle against Parlon. You did well."

"I am so gratified that you approve, but I fear that Parlon did not do all that he could against me," Cyrona confessed what she dared not have said to Rithys. "He wanted me to destroy his mortal form, for some reason that eludes me."

"With such a diseased mind, Parlon's motivations are utterly incomprehensible," Forynda replied, her tone turning nearly amused. "He knows that he will recover and so I believe he was merely testing to see what you could wield against him."

"That could well be and that he will employ an entirely different strategy next time," Cyrona commented, her mind filling with dread at the prospect. "While we held off this initial assault, we are desperately in need of your presence."

Forynda opened her golden eyes, which were still dim compared to the intensity they once possessed, and stared silently back at Cyrona for some time.

"It is not yet the appropriate hour for my return, but it is coming. I can feel that with each of the world's pulses, that moment approaches," the High Angel muttered. "It will be soon."

"Soon by mortal standards or by our own?"

"Both," Forynda answered. "It will be a time of my choosing, but I do keep watch over events in the mortal world. I will not abandon you or our followers when the need is most dire."

"It is fairly dire now," Cyrona implored her.

"This will be a long war and worse will soon come," Forynda's eyes drifted away from Cyrona. "I have seen it."

Cyrona's body chilled at the suggestion and her thoughts raced that Forynda had seen precisely what Parlon chortled about and Rithys quaked in terror in its sight. The High Angel had been cast into the Progenitor's realm, after all. All moments in time existed as a single uninterrupted stream in that realm.

"May I ask you something in complete candor?" Cyrona queried, floating closer to Forynda. The High Angel gazed at the Water Angel for some moments before lightly nodding. "Rithys and Simel are convinced that I will suffer Nethron's fate and be consigned to oblivion, believing they have seen this fate for me, but I told them it is..."

"Impossible," Forynda curtly interjected. "Even if I still possessed such power, the idea I would ever use it against you is the single most absurd thing I have ever heard in my entire existence."

Cyrona smiled and nodded.

"When you were in the Progenitor's realm, did you see anything that would indicate whether there is any truth at all to..." she began her inquiry, but the High Angel swiftly interrupted her.

"Cyrona, I will tell you only this once, never mention that again," Forynda angrily mumbled.

"I underst..."

"Ever," Forynda's eyes flashed.

Cyrona faintly nodded and gestured that she was about to leave. Just as she began to disappear in a whir of light to return to the mortal world, Forynda's voice sounded in her head.

"Know that if there were anything about which I could warn you, I would do so instantly," Forynda's voice said in a more affectionate tone.

Cyrona appeared just to the north of Emperor Rohmhelt's lines on the western flank as the battle against Duronaht's hordes continued to escalate. She contemplated more closely watching the clash, but decided it would merely anger her. Instead, she took refuge near a small pond nestled in between towering trees and floated above its surface, alone.

~

Rohmhelt stood over the map table in the main meeting room of Eynond's citadel while Grand Marshal Agrehn tersely explained the developments on the front of the past two days. Several marshals and lower ranking commanders joined him to correct anything that the Grand Marshal misstated, but only did so once when he mispronounced the name of a far lower ranking officer.

"The summary version of all of that, Your Imperial Majesty, is that our enemy continues to make slow and steady progress in their efforts to pinch us off here in Eynond," Agrehn motioned with his hands as a vice, encircling the ranks in and around Eynond. "I believe withdrawal is our only option at this point. It's going to be too risky after another day or so to remain here. If our lines break, then..."

"What did you say our estimated casualties, taken and inflicted, were?" Rohmhelt interrupted.

"We've given better than we've gotten," Agrehn replied, tugging at the bottom of his beard. "We've taken at least forty thousand casualties, mostly killed as minor wounds are patched up and sent back into the lines. My observations have backed up our commanders' assertions that we're killing three for every two we lose, so about sixty thousand casualties for our enemies. Of course, that's a function of the fact that we're on the defensive. It's harder to attack."

"So I've noticed," Rohmhelt mumbled in agreement, his mind recalling the drubbing his forces took at the Nehal River some months earlier. "All I wanted to do is be able to prove we can hold our own and it looks like we've done that. It gives us something we can point to for our newer allies, or so I'd like to think."

"Indeed," Agrehn nodded.

"And how do we retreat from this situation where we're being pinched off like this without the whole pocket collapsing? I don't see an easy way out," the Emperor lamented.

Agrehn nodded politely and motioned to one of his more junior commanders, a young slight man with poufy blue green hair who seemed out of place with his marshal's ribbons on his uniform.

"This is Marshal Kordov. I gave him a field promotion last night. He was the commander of the 37th Division and proved instrumental in stabilizing the northern front through a daring and very successful assault," Agrehn declared, his hands folded behind his back. "He showed the sort of initiative we'll need to launch a larger attack to buy time to withdraw. I've tasked him with planning the offensive."

Surprised at the Grand Marshal's willingness to defer to such a junior officer, Rohmhelt motioned for Kordov to step forward.

"Marshal Kordov, if you'll humor for a moment, how old are you?" the Emperor queried with a smirk.

"I was born six years before Your Imperial Majesty," he replied with a high but smooth voice.

"Well played," Rohmhelt muttered, causing a chuckle amidst the other officers. "How many men do you think you'll need for this?"

Kordov, with one hand behind his back, reached out with his other hand, which bore a very recent wound across his palm. Rohmhelt winced at the sight, imagining how much it must have stung.

"I've identified six divisions, two of which are understrength, so it'll truly be five. I plan to merge those two, with the Grand Marshal's approval, of course," Kordov happily stated, bowing to Agrehn. "About fifty thousand men, all told. Three of the divisions are from our reserve, fresh, largely light infantry. Fast thrusts into the pivot points of the enemy lines, enough to throw them off balance so that they'll have to reform. That'll buy the main army sufficient time that, at a brisk pace, withdrawal from this pocket can be achieved in approximately six hours, I should think."

"And this force? Are we expecting any of it to get away?" Rohmhelt inquired, fearing the answer.

"Casualties will be high. Very high," Kordov nodded, biting his pale lips. "But I expect that much of it will survive and rejoin the main army as it fights a delaying action."

Rohmhelt felt his stomach turn at the proposal, but as he glanced at the map again he saw no better option.

"Proceed," the Emperor sighed and stood back from the table, as if by doing so he hoped another view of the map would give him a new insight. Of course, that was in vain.

Three quick knocks from the sturdy dark wood door behind him caused the Emperor to jolt where he stood.

"Enter," he commanded, trying to recover from the fright.

One of his wife's retainers, a short and chubby red-haired girl in all white robes, entered and bowed.

"Your Imperial Majesty," she announced in her squeaky voice, "the Empress requests an audience."

"Ah, just as well," Rohmhelt smiled. "Thank you all. You can stay here if you'd like. I'll be in my chambers."

All of the commanders bowed graciously and Rohmhelt followed the retainer to his reception chamber where he immediately saw Evinda seated by the hearth, a modest fire keeping her warm in her largely white robes. He was glad to see that she'd at last changed out of the garments she wore during her clash with Myrvaness, which had been spackled in dirt and blood. He dismissed her retainer, who closed the heavy doors behind her, causing a dull echo to cascade through the stone chamber.

"You asked for me, my dear?" Rohmhelt cheerily queried as he sat down in the chair opposite her. Modest as the fire was, its warmth was a welcome break from the chronically cold and drafty halls of Eynond's citadel.

She looked at him with a pained smile and then sighed as she glanced back at the flames.

"I just wanted to see you. We haven't said much since my, um, duel of sorts with Myrvaness," she said in a tone both wounded and amused.

"I'm so very sorry, but with the battle, it's been very busy as I'm sure..." he started. She motioned him to stop.

"I know. I know," she said with another sigh. "In some ways, I was gratified that I could actually be of help. It's what I always thought I wanted."

"Yes, Simel told me that the battle would've been lost and Myrvaness would've broken free without you," Rohmhelt eagerly added.

"And I think that's right, which is what terrifies me. Compared to the angels, I did so very little and yet it did seem to matter," she let out a terse laugh. "This is truly that precariously balanced. Isn't that frightening?"

"I try not to think about it too much," Rohmhelt laughed and pressed his lips together. "What's scarier to me at the moment is how precarious our withdrawal from here is about to be."

"I knew that another retreat was coming, but..." Evinda shook her head. "No matter. We knew we would have to."

"I've had more ruminations than I can count about it. We can't retreat our way to victory. Fighting here was as much about keeping our blood up until we get to Karmand as anything. To give us something to prove our enemy is beatable," Rohmhelt said, reaching for Evinda's hand and grasping it tightly. "I think we've done that. But I also fear we've proven just how long this war will last."