“Can't you do anything?” Willem asked, kneeling down on the ground beside Kat. His heart was pounding in his chest, his thoughts all tripping over each other in his head as he tried desperately to calm himself. He fought not to panic, feeling the surging danger grip his stomach in an icy vise. “Surely you can do something with magic.”

The king remained silent, that baleful gaze fixed on Kat’s whispering figure. Willem had no way of knowing what thoughts flashed behind those eyes, but he could clearly make out the danger and fear stark in the demon’s posture. The lips were peeled back, the hackles raised and the muscles taut as steel. Under that hot Outland sun, the the coat of fur rustled as the king strode closer, placing a claw gently on Kat’s chest. Closing its eyes, the demon settled into a familiar trance, thin cords of magic curling out of its claw tips before long. Yet as time passed, its forehead began to furrow with concern and Willem felt a plummeting sensation snatch away that still-growing hope.

After a pause, its eyes opened with a flash of white, wisps of smoke curling out of the corners. While that previous gaze had felt strong, this one was utterly piercing. Even caught only on the fringes, Willem could feel it tearing into him, stripping away mortal bone and flesh until his very soul lay bare. He felt helplessly vulnerable, furtive and exposed with nothing to hide behind. He could feel the demon reading his heartbeat, reading his spirit even as it looked instead at Kat. A slow growl slipped out of those bared teeth, a guttural sound more from frustration than threat.

“There is nothing wrong with her spirit that I can tell.” the king growled, closing its eyes. When they opened once more, they were mere flesh again. The king tossed its head vigorously, holding a hand to its forehead as if trying to be rid of some pain. “It is whole, but muddled. It is like there is something else on her; some other half-presence nesting within. It is like...like an imprint.” the demon decided, searching for the right words. “It is molding her somewhat, but it is not something I can reach. Not without breaking her.”

“Why are you saying her? Kat is a man, no?” Willem asked almost absentmindedly. He wanted desperately to step away from the fact that Faith might be here, hiding in one of his friends. That a living corpse might be corrupting his friend before his very eyes.

The king blinked hard, still fighting the aftereffects of whatever magic it had used on its eyes. “She is female, or I am blind. Smells like female. Acts like female.” The king snorted derisively, even as Kat let out a shudder and broke out into sweat. “I think you are more blind than me.”

Yet the king’s expression swiftly grew somber once more, becoming serious as Kat arched her back with a scream. Whatever dream she was having, it certainly was not kind to her. “This madness is not in the spirit, so it must be in the mind. I would wait for Kha, but we have to hurry.” the king growled, its expression becoming unsightly as kat continued to wail. He swiftly turned to face Willem, eyes flashing. “You. You are Oa’kul. You can help her.”

Me? Willem felt blind panic surging up inside of him at the very thought. How was he supposed to help her? He was a cripple, a useless—yet he stopped himself from continuing down that back of thought. This was no time for crippling self-doubt, not when Kat needed him. And even more so, this was not merely about Kat and her life. If that corpse was given a foothold in this land, then it might very well lead to those swarming shadows descending over the horizon. What had happened to Malifor, what had happened in the south, it would happen again.

He needed to drive Faith out of her.

Gritting his teeth, he gave a short nod. “Aye. I can try.” he hissed, sitting down on the ground and closing his eyes. His heart was still pumping hard, his chest tight, but he had to force himself to calm. How had it felt, when he had been in that room beside Kha? How had it felt, when he had been feeling the earth beating around him? He had felt the heartbeat of trees and stone, of molten earth underneath his feet and the grinding, churning time of eons. It was far slower than his lifespan, than a hundred of his lifespans. The world could blink, and there would be no trace of him, of his line, of his people. It was all fleeting before the stone.

He remembered that feeling, and he hurriedly grasped it. His heartbeat began to slow, his rapid breathing growing more even as he calmed. His lips chanted nonsensical words, the world around him surrounding his thoughts. He could feel the dirt on his fingers, could feel the wind blowing against his skin. As his eyes were closed, he reached out with his other senses. He could hear the cawing of the birds above, could hear the heavy breaths of the demon beside him. They were distant, the distance warped. They were close, against his skin until they were practically inside of his ear. And as he reached out, he felt something in response.

He could feel the threads, wrapping around him. They were everywhere, connected to everything. There were fine threads attached to the stones, attached to the grass. There were more threads attached to the birds, wrapping around their wings and their beaks. And there were even more threads around the demon, pulsing gently in that constant heartbeat. They were like string, perhaps, in a myriad of colors. Yet each one was a different color, and they changed even as he watched. Before his unopened eyes, they shifted from a rosy red to a deep blue to something even more obscure and befuddled. They were something intangible, something incorporeal as they brushed against his fingertips.

They were thoughts, he knew, for this was the sensation that he had felt when he had been with Kha. And yet these were not what he was looking for, were not what he wanted. And so he reached out further still, his attention turning to the person that lay before him. He could feel the threads running from Kat, a myriad of strings so clumped and tangled that it was as if some maddened cat had unraveled a blanket. It was a mess, an utter storm that churned and twisted even as he watched, growing only more complex and confusing the harder he looked. It was like some labyrinth, some cursed maze that grew more entangled with every passing heartbeat. As he reached out to grasp it, the string would slide away, growing ever more tangled and knotted in the process.

As he watched it was as if there were two conflicting forces at work. On occasion, strands would unravel and straighten, uncoiling from the great jumbled mess into neat lines more akin to those of the demon’s . Yet even as they did so, in the center there would be a twisting, pulling harder and harder on the string around it until they too became even more embroiled in the mess of emotion and thoughts. This conflict had to have been what he needed to resolve, and as he watched, he could tell that one side was winning. If the disorder was Faith dominating her mindscape, then Faith would prove victor at this rate.

Hurriedly, he began to try and unravel the knotted mess. His fingers tightened around a single string, sinking into it with an unflinching determination. He could not fail here—not with the stakes as they were. And so he could only grit his teeth and pull, trying to tug the strand loose from the rest of its neighbors. Yet as he did so there was a sharp pain against the base of his head, and his mind’s vision blurred.

—a young girl, perched precariously upon a ladder in her father’s study. Her fingers were outstretched, reaching towards some book that hung out with spine exposed, ready for chubby fingers to grasp. She leaned harder and harder, those fingers inching closer and closer—

Willem let go with a gasp, feeling the flood of the memory inundate him. Yet, this was her mind—it ought not to be her memories, it ought to be her thoughts. So surely then, she was dreaming; yet if she was dreaming, was each of these threads a dream? Was each of these threads a memory, unraveling before her mind? No wonder then, that she was growing mad, memories bleeding into one another, growing tangled without end. Was this what Faith wanted, to drive her mad, that he might better steer her to serve his own purposes?

An image filled his thoughts suddenly of a Kat with blackened eyes, a horrific buzzing coming out of her gaping mouth. He saw skal’va pouring from her nose and mouth as she shambled forward mindlessly, head lolling sideways as Faith tugged her thoughts like reins on a horse. The image hardened his heart, came him further determination and rallied him against the task before him. He grasped the same strand once more, tugging on it with all his might. Faith resisted, but he fought back harder, locked in some intangible tug-of-war within the confines of her mind.

—and as the ladder toppled, her arms went careening sideways. That book once so close to her fingers, now seemed a mile away. The ground was rushing up, gaping maws of some monster rising to meet her. She let out a helpless wail, her eyes slamming shut as she prepared to strike the ground—

Harder and harder he tugged, struggling not to lose himself in her feverish dreams. It fought back with every movement, but still he persevered.

—warm hands around her. Her stunned eyes opened, seeing the gentle gaze of her father above her, blood trickling from where the ladder had caught him across the temple—

A sudden sharp tug nearly tore the strand out of his grasp, as if whatever beast on the other end had suddenly jerked back with all its might.

—Yet she was falling once again from that ladder, and her eyes stayed open. She kept waiting for her father to catch her, waiting for those arms to hold her. She waited and waited. She was still waiting when her head struck the ground, the crunch of shattering bone in her pierced ears. Her broken gaze turned upwards helplessly, and she saw her father staring disapprovingly in the doorway. There was a distorted laughter, like a thousand voices rasping at once in hissing cadence—

With a final pull, the strand came flying loose. Whatever force resisting seemed to have given up, with that last blow. Without a chance to recuperate, he hurriedly grabbed another strand, plunging once more into the memory.

—Her mother, crying tears as she went off for the legion. Her father smiling proudly with an arm around his hapless wife. And her fiance, waiting for her with rein in hand to her horse. Only with every step she took, the grass under her feet seemed to grow sharper and sharper. They pierced her legs, stabbing through her boots and into her foot. Every step left blood behind her, until there was a trail leading all the way back to that doorframe with her beaming father and sobbing mother. So close was her fiance, still smiling like a fool, waiting for her. Waiting for her, even as she collapsed to her knees, the swordgrass stabbing through her legs and piercing through her throat—

Another cord came loose, and Faith seemed to be growing weaker still. More and more, Wille tugged on the thoughts, pulling them out of the knotted mess of her mindscape. And as he continued to resist, Kat seemed to grow stronger as well. At the fringes, they began to unravel themselves, claiming sanity once more as she fought the storm. The strands straightened, the raging storm abating, and with a gasping cry the final string came loose.

Shuddering with tears of effort streaming down his cheeks, Willem felt his eyes finally fly open. His shoulders were heaving, his hands covered with sweat as he fought the sudden wave of lightheadedness that tried to claim him. Looking at Kat’s sleeping form, he saw her expression grow relaxed and calm once more.

Tension flew out of his heart, his body collapsing on the ground from exhaustion. I did it, he thought, clenching his fingers vaguely into a fist. The sensation of jubilation and pride that filled his chest was well-earned—if, unfortunately, premature.