She could only watch the boy crumple after taking the bullets meant for her. Rook's body slid to the floor; blood that seeped out of his wounds was taking away every ounce of his remaining strength. Faint threads of smoke puffed out of the armored soldiers' guns. The cleric looked at the four, only to realize that she was not getting any mercy from those that looked down on her.

There was nothing human in them; these killers were machines of war built to slaughter.

What she scraped from her scattered focus was not meant for her would-be executioners, but more on the one who pushed her out of the gunners' sights. Euphemia rushed to Rook and touched his pulse; slow and faint, with each misstep bringing him closer to death. The constructs just stood in front of her; none of the guns even took aim as her body screened the bloodied form from their view.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. Don't die. Don't die. Please don't die..."

She gave soft slaps on Rook's cheeks, hoping to shake off what was left of the boy's awareness. The cold was working its way to his brain, slowly paving his soul's exit from the body. Only one message was screaming inside her head; the only factor that would mean whether or not she could repel death from getting Rook.

You must leave. Find a way out.

The lull in the machines would soon run out, and Euphemia would be the next target of the killer automatons if she stayed too long. Something needed to be done – something that means a chance for both of them to live. She lacked neither strength nor speed to carry Rook out of the place without being shot herself, but what could she do to get them out of death's tightening hold?

"Please. Don't fail me now."

A hospital perhaps? Euphemia didn't know where it was or even saw the place when they passed by Altrecht's outer reaches. She was running out of time, and she could not push her chances with the lull in the machines that were out to kill her and Rook. Could she fend off the constructs on her own? Impossible. That would be too rash, and this was one of those times when she needed to draw strength from all meditations she learned from the cloister. Difficult to do, but this was not the time for fear, doubt, or anger.

There was only one place she could completely recall that could bring both of them away from their predicament.

An image of the fork before Altrecht's entrance was drawn in the canoness' mind. It started out as splotches of color, which then became a melting landscape until the picture could be seen clearly. Euphemia hugged Rook's bloodied form, wrapping their bodies in whiteness. The machine men took aim and unloaded rounds at the illuminated figures; their bullets went through the bodies and buried on the wall behind. They were gone, replaced by an upward pillar of light that faded into the sky.

Light gathered in front of the old signpost at the crossroads. It grew brighter within a few moments until it dispersed upward, leaving the road to the night.

The same light formed at the front doorstep of an old wooden house, but the intensity increased until it was almost a solid, blinding mass. Human forms were outlined, drained of their brightness, and formed Euphemia clutching the bleeding Rook. The cleric's hand grasped the boy's wrist; he felt cold even when she pressed her mass to give him warmth. She lay the boy on his back against the floor and rushed for the front door.

"I need help! Open this door. Please!" Euphemia pounded her fist with an irregular rhythm.

Lights were turned on from a room to the left and spread up to the house's main hall. The familiar bearded face answered Euphemia's call; a shotgun was held with both hands.

"Thank you. I must... help him." the cleric was not able to continue speaking when the farmer saw the bleeding boy lying behind her.

"What happened...?" the man almost dropped his weapon to the floor, but what reflexes he had managed to regain hold of the stock and set the gun aside. He took a couple of half-leaps to scoop the boy from the floor.

"I need to borrow your kitchen. Please be careful with him."

"Yes, Sister."

She could see blood filling up more than half of Rook's torso. Euphemia caught sight of the long wooden dinner table after the farmer turned left of the entrance. She went ahead, clearing the table to allow the old man to set Rook on top of it; the boy groaned when he was separated from the farmer's hold.

It was time to do her work. Euphemia brought out a folded piece of cloth and untied the small bind at the center. A metallic gray sheen was cast by the light bulb overhead; small tools that were sleeved in separate compartments were readied. Skin-hugging gloves were secured on each hand before Euphemia worked on disrobing the patient. She wiped off much of the blood that spread across Rook's chest, only to see more rush out to her dismay.

Three wounds, yet the bandages Euphemia brought along won't be enough to stop the bleeding. None of the bullets remained inside the boy's frame, as was expected from war machines with rifles for arms. Her options were out – she had to use a talent the Church strictly prohibited to be seen outside its walls.

"Is this one, among many of Your tests to come? May I continue to be worthy of Your guidance."

Euphemia took off her gloves, raised her left hand to the air, and set her right a little above Rook's chest. A cool silence enveloped the room; the air around her began showing a tinge of green. Her raised hand was opened, and a bright ball converged on her palm, drawing in more of the green air inside. Slowly she lowered her arm and brought the orb closer to the boy; the ball was readily absorbed when its brilliance wrapped around Rook's form. Euphemia parted her hands; the left just stopping on the boy's abdomen and the other right on top of his eyes.

It was as if the light followed the canoness' will; it followed her palms and stopped its spread just below the area Euphemia wanted the brightness to span. The holes that allowed Rook's blood to spread all over the place began closing on their own; blotches of deep red began to dry and flake over his skin.

"Do not die. I'd never forgive myself if..."

††

Darkness.

Rook was weightless; his body could not even move a finger inside the void. Nothing to see, nothing to feel. Was this the feeling of death? Would this mean that he was destined to be swallowed by the dark when the last traces of his consciousness were extinguished? He did not know what lay ahead of him, but he seemed to be too tired to care.

He felt sorry for himself for being unable to unlock what has been sealed away from him for so long, for discovering new abilities, and yet he threw his life away in the face of danger and, for leaving behind somebody who could have been a great friend. He remained afloat, waiting for the moment when everything would be over.

"Do you ever give up this easily?"

It was a girl's voice, probably that of a ten-year-old peasant. The first vein of green light appeared a little above him. It ran in jagged lines, splitting and weaving until a web was formed and shattered the darkness. More of the cracks ran, gradually eating away at the void until Rook could see an empty space occupied by brightness.

A swirl of seven colors appeared in front of Rook, spinning in such fastness that it was becoming larger with every eyewink. It exploded in a flash of rainbows; its remains faded to reveal a little girl clad in a glimmering dress of the spectrum. Her little features were covered in bright and moving shades; all Rook could see in her was an unnatural glow of her skin and a pair of emerald eyes that eagerly looked back at him.

"Are you Death? Have you come to take me?"

"I guess you've really accepted that fate huh?" the girl frowned at Rook. "Of course not, and I don't know what Death looks like either."

"Then you must be a dream."

"Maybe, maybe not. I am like the 'voices' you heard during your battle with the metal men, only that I didn't speak to you when the rest were helping you out."

"The... rest? I don't get it."

"That Man must've gotten your head in a bad shape then... this is harder than I thought."

"What are you talking about? What kind of dream are you?"

"You'll know what I'm talking about at the right time, but this is too much for you if I'd go about it now."

"I don't get any of this!" Rook saw his hands at last. He stared at them and then his gaze shifted to the girl in front of him. "What is this place? Who are you or better yet, what are you?"

"There's no way around this I guess, so are you going to believe me when I answer you?"

"Uh..."

"For starters, this place is you." The girl did not wait for Rook's reply and went ahead. "You won't see your innards and bones here, but you are inside your mind."

"It's green?"

"Not really," was the short answer. "This is the effect of what your cleric friend is doing to your body."

"Eu-Euphemia?"

"Nothing to be alarmed of or anything, but this green place is the effect of a healing art – a very powerful one."

Rook moved around the space; a funny feeling that his legs looked afloat but he could not feel any air inside. This girl could have been right about him being inside his mind after all.

"Healing art?"

"Did you remember seeing her for the first time? You sensed magic in her. This is one of those things she does with her magic."

"Then I'm not dead, and you're not Death." Something struck odd with Rook, and then he asked, "how did you know that I've seen her before?"

"We are part of you. We see through your eyes, and we know what you think."

"Will you disappear when I think about it?"

"No. We stay with you; we are one with you."

"I still don't understand." Rook closed his eyes and shook his head. "You keep saying 'we', but where are the others?"

"They chose not to show up to you. They're disappointed with the life you've almost thrown away." The girl smiled at him. "Don't worry, they'll get over it and let you see them someday."

"Okay... who are you then?"

"I'm Metis." She waved at him; her smile shrunk in modesty.

"I don't know if I should believe you, but if Euphemia is keeping me alive, I owe her one."

"Let's just make use of this time to rest. I'm sure your friend there is doing all she can to keep you - I mean us, alive."

††

Euphemia held the boy's pulse: slow but was showing signs that it will become stronger if he were left to rest. This was the first time she had used the skill on someone with grave injuries, and it took a lot of her own energy to harness the mana needed for the work. Her head felt like a shaken bottle of water by the time Rook's wounds were reduced to small round marks. She took a wet cloth from a nearby pot and cleaned the blood off the boy. His forehead wasn't as cold as before – a sign that her craft worked more than what she expected.

This whole search for the whereabouts of the Gray Fox was dangerous, experiencing firsthand the chaos that went on with Altrecht. Euphemia thought of those machines – soldiers that were designed to kill until they were destroyed. Never did she imagine that the war between syndicates has put towns in the Empire to such feats of destruction.

She could only speculate that the machines were owned by the Gray Fox himself, with no proof other than the thought since she was not able to see any markings that declared under whose aegis the constructs were. Was all this trouble worth it, she asked. Euphemia saw how the town erupted into flames and corpses during the ill-fated night, and she could feel that the violence still raged on behind the walls.

Euphemia would have better called this search off and went home.

And there was Rook to worry about: the boy she just met who took those metal kisses that should have been hers. Yes, should have been. Was it fair for her to take in unwilling people in her quest? Would things change had she decided to not take Rook to Altrecht, or to have refused his offer right at the start?

Looking back had no purpose now; time was spent, and all she could do was to protect the boy until she could find a good place for him to stay. Her thoughts were suspended when a soft creaking of the door was heard.

"Is he going to be all right?" The aged farmer entered the dining hall; his voice trailed off from behind.

"I have done my best." A solemn smile etched in Euphemia's face; her shoulders sagged while she gripped her temples. "We shall find out tomorrow morning. I was able to stop him from losing any more blood at least."

"I suggest you take a rest, Holy Sister." The man started picking up the red-stained pile of cloth and gathered them in a small basket. "Your venture to the town did its toll."

"You are right." The canoness' head bowed and hid behind the shadow of her veil. "Can you take the boy to one of your spare rooms?"

"O-o-of course, Holy Sister." The farmer went for Rook and clutched him with both arms. "This way, please. There's another room here. It is yours for the night."

"Thank you for your hospitality. I apologize if I had to disturb you with our situation. I will make sure to repay this kindness."

"Make no mention of it."

She thought of leaving Rook here with the old man. He should have a good place here with food, warmth, and clothing constantly provided. It could be the best for him after all.