Deep into the night, long after sleep had come to them all, Emilie found herself stirring back to the waking world. First, she floated up from the deep to the layer of sleep at which she dreamed, but it was no ordinary dream; the dreams of a hierophant were seldom ordinary. It was an abstract bombardment of colour and noise, first pleasurable but quickly turning to pain. It’s her, Emilie knew. It’s Phyrn… she’s…

Before she could finish unconsciously interpreting the dream as it was happening, she burst awake, and her sudden consciousness was accompanied by a yellow-green luminous rift manifesting in the middle of her room. It closed just as quickly as it’d appeared, but not before depositing a body onto the floor… a body hardly moving, but moving.

“Goddess!” Emilie gasped, leaping out of bed and rushing to Phyrn’s side. She was breathing; slowly and shallowly, but breathing. Emilie wasted no time, holding her open hands over the goddess and calling on all the magic she could muster, casting a veil of white aura over her. “Who dared do this to you?!”

“Fyren,” the beaten goddess managed to wheeze.

For just a split second, Emilie paused. “Does that mean…?”

“No,” Phyrn coughed. “He does not pursue me. I was… saved. I was pushed from his perceptions.”

“By who?”

“Ponima.”

“Ponima…?” Emilie almost couldn’t believe it. “Even though…”

“Yes,” Phyrn said with more solidity in her voice, quickly regaining her constitution thanks to her faithful hierophant’s ministrations. “I know, I was surprised as well. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be; beings such as her are naturally unpredictable. But… they’re not random.”

“Does that mean she has seen sense?” Emilie dared to ask. “Is she… for lack of better wording, on our side?”

Phyrn sat up, and raised a palm to Emilie that seemed to say that’s enough, thank you. “Uncertain. I don’t believe so. She is… angry. Resentful. She still seems to believe that the rest of us are responsible for provoking Fyren and causing the severance.”

“How can she believe that?” Emilie bemoaned. “And… if that’s the case… why did she risk herself to save you?”

Phyrn smiled sadly. “I think she believes the fighting will still somehow resolve itself peacefully… even though Fyren has now whittled the Decakon down from ten to four. Nativus, Zur, Narva, D’Gora, Mirim, Rajata… all gone. Only Brightbrand, Ponima, and myself remain… and Fyren, too, of course, but…”

Emilie felt a dull pain in her chest. “Six of our world’s creators… dead. I do not think I will ever be at peace with this loss.”

“And if we do not hurry,” Phyrn rasped as she steadily floated to her feet, “we may yet lose more. In Fyren has been vested the mandate and power of the Executioners, and he will stop at nothing to fulfil that mandate.”

“Why is he doing this, goddess? Why is this happening?”

“I’m afraid I am not yet confident enough to give an answer,” Phyrn lamented. “I have theories, of course, but I should like to verify the truth first.”

Phyrn’s posture buckled, and as she fell forward, she planted her hands on the mattress of Emilie’s bed. “The spell Ponima cast upon me should last a good while longer. It is unusual, but… Emilie, may I sleep in your bed this night?”

Emilie’s eyes sparkled. “Y-yes, goddess! You need rest! Please, allow me to help you in.”

Phyrn smiled at the hierophant’s delicate guidance, and was glad for it, as her injuries were still agonising.

When she was comfortable, Emilie lowered to her knees at the bedside and propped her elbows on the mattress, clutching her rosary in both hands. Staring at Phyrn, she began silently praying, lending her magical energy to the goddess.

“Emilie, my dear,” Phyrn crooned. “You need rest as well. This bed is big enough for both of us; come lay beside me.”

Emilie’s heart fluttered. “Goddess? Are you… are you certain you wish to sleep beside your mortal servant?”

“I am certain,” Phyrn nearly laughed, inhibited by the sharp pain in her chest. “Millennia ago, it was not so strange for the gods to mingle so warmly with their creations. For what is the use of a creator’s passion and love if it cannot be expressed?”

“Goddess…” Emilie, with shaky hands and quavering vocalisations, crept into bed with Phyrn. Her tension quickly left her as she felt the goddess’ embrace envelop her. She felt their spiritual connection flare, and a rush of energy both flowed into and out of her. “This way… we will both benefit from each other’s energies… more so than— ack!”

Phyrn planted a kiss on the hierophant’s forehead. “Be at ease, my dear. When you awake in the morning, I shall be gone… and I know not if I will ever be able to exist so closely with my chosen ever again. You… Livia… Pippy… Krey… my most beloved followers. I pray, in the end, I shall be able to reward your labours with so much more than a mere embrace.”

“Your embrace is more than enough,” Emilie insisted. “Goddess… do you truly pray?”

Phyrn’s smile broadened. “There are things magnitudes beyond that of godlings such as I… gods of higher calibre and steeper power, worlds of grander importance and deeper meaning. The scale of the greater cosmos…” she sighed. “There is much beyond Berodyl, Emilie. If we manage to undo the severance, I promise you will get to see it.”

“If there is truly so much above and beyond us,” Emilie wondered, “does… does Berodyl even matter? Do we matter?”

Phyrn pinched Emilie’s chin and looked into her eyes. “The smallest and meekest soul in the simplest and littlest world still matters, my dear. No force or will is too insignificant or too weak to make all of creation a better place. All it takes is the courage to hope and to try.”

Emilie’s mouth hung open, and she made the faintest, most delicate tone with her voice. She pulled herself closer against Phyrn’s body, feeling her own breath warm her face as she allowed it to press into the goddess’ breasts. “I promise, my goddess… this meek soul will muster all the courage she can. I will not let you down. We will not let you down.”

Phyrn stroked Emilie’s head, running fingers through her hair. “I know.”