11 steps out of the cave into the first rays of dawn, shielding her eyes from the glare of the open sky. The fog has dissipated, and the clearing, no longer under the wraith’s ethereal grasp, is once again lush and alive with summer. Except, of course, for the spot where the three bodies are.

It takes 11 a moment to move, even though she is not surprised by what she sees. Inside the cave, she knew that Aralyn and her party were fighting the wraith, and she knew what it meant when the wraith returned.

Still, it does not hurt any less.

11 walks over and kneels down next to Aralyn. The elf girl is hunched over the unmoving bodies of her dead companions, her shoulders jerking as she cries silently.

Without really knowing what she is doing, 11 wraps her arms around the grieving girl, and pulls her into a tight embrace. At first, the stink of blood is overwhelming, but beneath it, 11 starts to pick out the distinct scent of strawberries and mint; the smell she has come to miss these last two days.

Aralyn stirs, pushing away from 11 so she can look up with those pretty, wet eyes. “Why is it…” the elf begins shakily, swallows, tries again, “that whenever I see you… you’re always covered in blood?”

11 tries her best to offer a reassuring smile, but she has a strong suspicion she’s just grimacing. “If it makes you feel any better, none of it is mine, this time.”

“That’s good. That’s…” Aralyn tries to say something else, but her voice dies in her throat. She scrunches up her eyes and bites down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling, but the tears come regardless, racing down her cheeks. She holds her breath, fighting it, but her strength finally gives out, and she buries her face into 11’s chest.

Hearing Aralyn’s heart-wrenching wails, something inside 11 wakes, like a rock being shifted to expose the dead grass beneath.

She has heard this sound before.

No, she has made this sound before.

But when? And why?

11 thinks about the brown-suited man, and how his heart still beat in her hands as he sinks into the water.

Was it when I killed him?

“It’s my fault,” Aralyn sobs, her sorrow hot against 11’s chest. “I killed them.”

11 holds tightly onto the elf, stroking her head and murmuring comforting words into her ear. “It wasn’t you. Don’t ever think that it was you.”

"I shouldn't have gone on without them."

11 does not know what else to say, and soon her comforting words dull into meaningless drivel, even to her ears. So she keeps quiet, and holds on.

Eventually, Aralyn’s cries soften into hiccups, and her arms loosen around 11’s waist. Her breathing slows, and she passes into an exhausted unconsciousness soon after.

11 runs her hand gently through Aralyn’s matted hair, picking out the larger pieces of dried blood. It feels like something is leaking from her Master Core, and a sourness fills her mouth until she cannot feel her own tongue.

“I’m sorry," 11 whispers, knowing - hoping - that Aralyn cannot hear. "It is my doing. I could've... I could've gotten here earlier." She shakes her head, a dreadful feeling taking her. "No, I could've ended this before any of you got hurt. I could've exterminated the Demonic Entity... when I first...”

The God Gier finds herself unwilling to finish that thought. She gives Aralyn one last hug, and then moves to lift her up. The elf girl does not give much more than a whimper before falling back to sleep, so exhausted is her battered body.

“Hold on,” 11 tells her. “This might hurt. But I am here.”

Although 11's scanners assure her that Aralyn has suffered no immediate life-threatening injuries, the God Gier finds no solace in the knowledge. The worst injuries are the ones that linger in the soul, as the drunk doctor so evidently exemplifies.

I guess I should buy him a good case of wine, she decides as she carries Aralyn towards the entrance of the forest, back towards the village.

At the edge of the clearing, 11 stops to look back at the bodies on the ground. From their wounds, she can tell that Allastair fought honorably and Fennald fought courageously. They both deserve a proper burial, but the needs of the living outweigh the needs of the dead. It isn’t logical for 11 to delay Aralyn’s recovery to dig holes for men who have already passed.

At least, that is what the God Gier tells herself, as she turns away and begins the long trek back to Oakroot.