ONE YEAR LATER

Mille the Wolf. The Shephard of Maddened Sheep. She was a strong woman of stronger convictions. A woman who could not and would not balk in the face of death or danger. A commander of undeniable skill and a warrior of even better skill. She had known defeat, it was said, only twice. The failure at Murlay and the fall of the rebellion. These were her failures in a lifetime of success. She now sat, hunched and huddled, in the corner of a nondescript tavern, shrouded from all who could possibly see her. She must have figured that people would have recognized her despite her worsened, sleep-deprived, and far more emaciated form.

Jira knew that she thought wrong.

Orlantha did as well.

Orlantha had seen Mille many more times than herself, whether by accident, purposeful intent to discuss strategy or some other behind-the-scenes topic. Orlantha, a woman attached to minute details almost as much if not more than the bear-maiden, could not recognize the tamed beast.

"That cannot be Mille," she had whispered upon Jira's identification of the woman. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Jira shook her head under the hood hiding all, but her eyes, which were narrowed with a fear that she would be proven wrong, and people would recognize the Wolf. "I cannot say. Something must have happened at the Bastion. Something to drive her out. Maybe...maybe with me and my soldiers gone, Sarda attempted to assault the vaults beneath the citadel. Maybe they died?"

Orlantha sipped her tankard of ale and licked the foam from her upper lip. She cleared her throat and set the tankard down, eyeing Mille but keeping her focus on Jira. "Right...the vaults. You still need to explain that in greater detail than you have."

Jira sighed. "I have told you all I know regarding them."

"I feel as though that is a lie."

"You feel as though everything I say is a lie."

"Because you are a proven liar."

Jira could not help but at least simper at this, drinking from her own mug as Orlantha turned her gaze to her. Eyes the color of silver coins rested on the Raven with scrutinizing humor, refusing to balk at the intensity of the Raven's emerald stars. "We have been traveling for a year, Orlantha. You should know to trust me by now."

"I trust no one but myself and Mill," Orlantha stated, now drinking from her tankard. "You should know that by now."

Jira shook her head and matched Orlantha's drink. "And who was it that got us out of Veoris in the first place? Who killed that freak that kept us held up at the border for way too long? Who helped smuggle us into this bloody city in the first place? Who got us the money that allows us to live in comfort until we get our job done?"

Orlantha gave her own simper. "Alright, fair enough. But-"

"No, no. Say it. Who did all that?"

"Fine. You did."

Jira beamed from the praise and laughed snarkily to herself. She drank another helping from her tankard and returned her attention to Mille, Orlantha following suit. "We should talk to her," Jira said.

"We should, but what about?"

Jira shrugged. "Our plan? Our intentions? The coming apocalypse I tried to stop?"

"Any of that could work. You were at the Bastion with her. Why not talk to her?"

"I would, had I not left her on dubious terms. I did as she and Sarda asked and ended up vanishing for a long time. If you were her and saw me approach, would you react calmly?"

"Do you think she will react so to me?"

"You have an aura about you that keeps people from running."

"Truth...well, then I have a thought if you would not mind?" Orlantha said.

"Be my guest."

Orlantha nodded and finished her drink, slamming the tankard onto the table to a resounding crack and quickly rising to her feet. The sound of the chair dragging across the floor brought many eyes onto her, some in fear and some in awe. Her eyes caught a particular glance from Jira and then another from the other patrons in the tavern. Something had happened to her during the trek from Veoris. She had first noted it as increased strength, first seen in that mountain church when she dueled the monstrous things. Next was the inhuman agility and speed granted by the blade in her possession - the very same one strapped to her side. Now was her physical nature so changed that the comment had switched from "what have you been eating" to "are you part Drayheller?"

Once, she was able to ignore or be somewhat peeved by the derisive jeers that followed these comments but had now started to view them with a touch of self-pride. Her arms were ogrishly long as were her legs, her knuckles dragging against the table top and her shanks now granting her another half-foot against Milligan, who was already taller than most. The thighs and biceps of those arms and legs were proportioned well to the length, the latter being tree-trunkesque and the former being nearly as large as her head while resting. Her abdomen and chest had filled out as well, so much so that she drew some comparisons from Milligan and Jira to the old warrior maidens of classical tales - tall ravishing figures of brutality and sensuality. Of course, she denied the latter but accepted the former.

The most irritating part of that, however, was the constant need for new clothing. Undergarments and the loose-fitting shirt and breeches were all well and good, though it was the armor that needed constant tending. Thankfully, Holmgan had many services to provide such a thing, and Orlantha was now in possession of thick, full-body leather and hide armor dyed black with a raven on her chest, a silver star mace on her pauldrons, and a hybrid of sorts as her belt buckle. Over this, Orlantha had taken to wearing a black hooded cloak with gray wolf fur lining on the collar and shoulders. The sword retained from the trials at Veoris rested on her left hip, sheathed in a specially made scabbard of iron-bonded boiled leather.

In short, when Mille the Wolf saw this woman approaching her, she became apprehensive, panicked, and slid back against the wall while spilling her drink. "Wait, wait, wait," she began to mutter, much to the Raven's visible confusion. "Please, please-"

The Raven pulled a chair from the Wolf's table and sat in it, crossing her fingers on the tabletop and staring at the Wolf's withered, feverish face. "Hello, Commander," she whispered, holding one hand up to calm Mille's rising emotion. "It has been a while. Are you well?"

The Wolf stammered, looking back and forth between Orlantha and the rest of the tavern. "W-what?" she finally asked.

"Are you...actually, what are you drinking?"

Mille looked at her drink for a moment, examining it as if she was uncertain. Orlantha buried the shame at seeing such a wonderful knight be reduced to this husk - this shell. "Ale?" Mille answered.

"The cheap shit, right?" Orlantha asked with a sad smirk. "Let me get you some of the better stuff, yeah?"

The Raven motioned to the bartender, who looked to the nearest wench, who came over to the table and then returned to the bar to get the Wolf her new drink. The mug was cold, ice cold, with a delicate foam running the rim. It was the tavern's best drink, as best as one could get in a place as average and unimportant as this one. Mille took the mug cautiously and drank from it fearfully, her sunken eyes closing as she enjoyed the undoubtedly soothing taste of the ale.

"Good, right?" Orlantha asked.

"Yeah," Mille answered after drinking half of the mug. Her nerves seemed to have calmed. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

Orlantha sat back in the chair, hoping the creaking sound did not mean it was about to crumble under her sheer mass. "I understand that you probably do not recognize me. I look far different than the last time we saw each other."

"We have met before?" the Wolf asked, again in a whisper.

Orlantha smiled, keeping her voice low to avoid detection from the others. "We have. Many times. In Jore. Here in Holmgan. The Bastion."

Mille's sunken eyes widened, and her body tensed. The wrong word, the wrong tone, the wrong expression would send this woman running for the hills. "Who...who..."

Orlantha held up her hand again. "Orlantha Quills, Commander. My name is Orlantha Quills. I was the captain of the Bloody Ravens guild in the rebellion."

"Yo...you are not Orlantha Quills. She-"

"We fought together at Vucan. You killed uh...who was it? Zorander Sephir from atop your horse. Stabbed him through the eye. Saved my life, actually. You also had frequent spats with Sarda Kahlim, that haughty fuck. You redesigned the guilds because of the influx of soldiers from the Duke's lands. Gave Jira ne'Jiral control of her own. Also had a thing against Galeran Reynfred, the self-righteous prick that he was."

Mille's breath visibly hitched in her throat. She nearly dropped the mug from her hands. "Or...Orlantha?"

Orlantha smiled wide. "Yes. It is me. And it is good to see you again, Commander."

"Orlantha? What-what-what are you doing here? You...you look so-"

"Different, I know. The years have been physical for me."

"That-that is an understatement. How did you survive? How did-how did you make it here?"

"I can ask you the same questions, Commander," Orlantha said with a smirk. "You look different yourself. Are you well?"

Mille took a moment to answer. "Well, no. I suppose not, but you can see that as well as anyone."

"Indeed. How about we go somewhere more private and safe to talk? There is an inn nearby. We can go there, I will pay for your room and get you a meal. Does that sound okay?"

Mille stared at Orlantha for a long time, downing the rest of her drink, coughing to clear her throat, and finally nodded.

The room was comfortable with an attitude of "nearly wealthy." Orlantha felt it best to have this be the room for the woman who had spent an unknown amount of time on the road, in the cold, alone without anything but embers for a campfire. She had lit the fireplace and stoked it to an enveloping warmth, filling the room with a reddish-orange glow that outlined the Wolf as she stalked the length, taking in each detail with a hunter's intent. She had removed the cloak hiding her from prying eyes, revealing the age that had wracked her body. Her strawberry hair was long and almost straw-thin, in desperate need of being cut and cared for to regrow. Her once-powerful build had lessened to a smaller and leaner size, still functional but clearly on the edge of becoming sickly.

Orlantha sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed over her legs, waiting for Mille to finish her examination, while Jira stood by the door with her face in the book that had come with the room. She had kept her hood up, and her face turned away from the Wolf, keeping her in the dark as to her identity. Milligan was still absent, having gone out in search of clues the day prior. Orlantha trusted that he would find them with ease when he returned, likely in some fashion that would startle the three of them. And in that, reveal Jira's true identity to the Wolf. Answers were needed now. Quickly.

"The room looks decent," Mille said suddenly, stopping in front of Orlantha. Her voice was almost mousey, and her posture was hunched and nervous. "It can work for the night."

Orlantha sniffed and stood up, towering over the woman who had once been powerful and broad. "I paid for it for the week. You will have it for the week."

"Th-thank you," Mille smiled small, backing up a touch.

Orlantha moved to the side and motioned to where she had just been sitting. "Take a seat on the bed, and tell us what happened at the Bastion. We will, in turn, tell you what we are doing here."

Mille did so after a consideration, sighing heavily in joy at the softness of the bed. She breathed slowly and recollected herself, placing her hands on her knees and leaning forward slightly. "We had hid there for years. Myself, Sarda, the remains of the Rebellion. It was a large force for a time. Something we could muster again and again to fight against the King. Until the invasion, of course. The slaughtering took place over months and years...no one lived except me, Sarda, and the Contemptors. Jira's guild. We scraped a living together with the stockpiles the Bastion had, and no one sought to fight us. The rumors of the place kept us alive where everyone else died or defected, like the Harbingers. The Eye."

Orlantha whistled and grabbed the complimentary bottle of wine from the table near Jira. She uncorked it with the dagger hilted to her lower back and took a long drink - it was fruity with a sour tart aftertaste. She offered it to Mille, who took it and drank. "So you stayed in there for almost nine years?" the Raven asked.

"More or less, not counting the time fighting. After a time, we just stopped leaving in mass and sent out small units to hunt, gather information. Some came back, some did not. And all that time, the world kept rotting. Khirn kept rotting. Jore sunk. Fields turned to mush, and the rain burned. The King had his alliance with the other four nations. His church facilitated all of this corruption to take hold in the land. And then...we went into the mountain. It was the last option we had, truth be told."

"Into the mountain?" Orlantha asked, taking back the wine to sip from it and casting a quirked glance to Jira who merely flipped the pages of her book.

"Into the mountain," Mille repeated, taking back the wine. "We had found tunnels. We...sent Jira and a contingent of her best soldiers to investigate them. They were gone only hours before some of them returned, speaking of..."

"Of what?" Orlantha pressed, rubbing her chin with one hand while placing the other under her arm.

"Giants made of metal. Draconic things. Old...old things that spoke of generations and Sanctity and lifeblood. How Jira was a liar, a mutant, a freak. We had no idea what they were talking about until we went down ourselves. And we saw them. I wanted to get my soldiers out of there, but Sarda was persistent. Saying that we needed to get whatever was behind the door they were guarding. So we tried and tried multiple times, and Jira, to her credit, convinced us time and time again to go back. I have no idea what to call her voice, only that it caused pain and dread. One day, we went down again, and Jira was not there. Only those giants of metal. Sarda would not have it anymore. He fought, and we had to retreat."

Orlantha denied the bottle after catching the tears forming in Mille's eyes. The Wolf drank from it heavily, drying the tears under the alcohol.

"Then...a few months ago, they attacked us. They came up from the tunnels and slaughtered everyone. Everyone. The Contemptors. Sarda. Ranev. All of them. I saw Sarda pull out that stupid sword of his and fight those horrible things. They just cut him down like a dog and threw his corpse over the walls. I saw the Contemptors form battle lines and fight like a unit. It mattered not when a metal fucking bull just charged into their ranks and scattered them like a rock slide. I escaped by virtue of cowardice. I lived while they died. I think...I think I was meant to die as a warrior but now live as a craven."

Orlantha nodded along with the words and pressed her lips tightly. "You are not a craven, Mille. There is no shame in what you did. I would have done the same. Hell Below, I ran after Murlay. I saw everything happen, and I did nothing. That is worse than what you did. You fought until you could not fight anymore. You fought until it took metal monstrosities to put you down. And still, you live."

"Because I-"

"Are one of the strongest people I know. You led a doomed rebellion despite knowing in your heart that it was doomed. I saw it in your face that you knew. You served a foolish politician and were forced to listen to his foolish advisors. You did what you could with what you had. And you made the most of it. That makes you strong, Mille. That does not make you weak."

Mille huffed and placed the bottle on the floor. "Does it not? Am I not a coward for leaving my soldiers to die while I ran here to the enemy's home because it is the only safe place left?"

"No, you are not. Because it led you to us for redemption."

Mille raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

Orlantha leaned down to pick up the bottle and drank from it heavily, draining half of the remaining amount. She handed it back to Mille, who took it warily. "I mean that you are now here to help us," she said.

Mille finished the bottle. "With what?"

"Saving Oudet Barat."

Over the course of several hours, Orlantha regaled Mille with the stories of what she had done during the time between Murlay and then. From Caerux Cain to Milligan to Veoris to the church to now, she spoke. With Jira's permission and addition to the conversation, she further mitigated the reunion between the Wolf and the Knight of Secrets, keeping the former from unloading physical abuse on the latter. Words were shared between the two, primarily apologetic and hateful until the Wolf was finally given the full breadth of their situation. Dawning crossed her face as Jira then explained what had occurred in the Bastion's vaults and in the Athanaeum of Tahrir. From the Father to the Looking Glass to the bear-maiden to Veoris and Eadward Crius, Jira finally told the truth as it was, and Orlantha felt a swell of respect rise in her chest as this incredible event came to pass as last.

"So you mean to tell me...that King holds no power over his own army anymore?" Mille asked after downing the second cup of the ale they had ordered.

"That is exactly what we mean to tell you, Mille," Jira said, masking her voice to a husky smoothness remembered from the days of Vucan. "We held the King in our hands, threatened his life, and the Bishop Crius just...let us go without consequence. His soldiers, the King's most loyal guard, let us go. We killed them in trials by combat, and nothing happened to us. Nothing. He used his cane to reduce them to mindless thralls and drooling, growling cretins. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I would not doubt it if the King was dead by the time Crius and his army return."

"If this Crius person is so dangerous, why did you not take the chance to kill him there? Is he truly so powerful that the thought evaporated the instant you saw him? That blade you have surely could have done it."

"Perhaps it can," Orlantha admitted, looking at the blade on her hip. "But I have no idea how to use it like that again. Every fight since has been a regular bout. Nothing like Veoris."

"So, what do we do? I mean, upon a time, I would have thrown all of you into an asylum for saying the things you are. God...Gods....creators...arcaeno...but now, I have no choice but to believe. All that I have seen compels me to believe. What do we do?"

"We free my father and find a way to kill the fucker," Milligan Barat announced from the now-open window of the room. Jira yelped, Mille slid back on instinct into a defensive posture, while Orlantha remained silent and saluted the man with her own cup of ale.

"Welcome back, Mill," she said with a bright smile. "Took you long enough. Where the hell did you go?"

"The castle."

"What?" Jira excalimed.

"This is Milligan?" asked Mille, softening her stance.

"I am he," the Enigma said with his own smile, bowing with a tight flourish. He was wearing new clothing - new green clothing - along with a long gold-buttoned overcoat. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss..."

"Mille Osibri," the Wolf answered, now standing calmly and moving to pour herself another cup. "How did you know we were here?"

"Heard you," the Engima said. "You are very loud women."

"No, you are just a very inhuman person," Jira retorted, moving to the bed to flop down in exasperation. "How the hell did you break into the castle? Why did you do it alone?"

"Didn't have time to come back to tell you what I was doing. Didn't want to risk your lives."

"Did you find anything, at least?" Orlantha asked, her voice stern.

Milligan sniffed and tossed his pack onto the floor. Clatters erupted from it, like a bundle of plates sliding along each other. "I found a lot of shit to fence. Some papers I think might prove useful. And something else I thought was interesting. I suppose I can give it to Miss Osibri here as a welcoming gift to the party."

Orlantha waved her head. "Gift later, papers later, fence later. Any information that you overheard?"

"I heard a lot. That cathedral is bustling with activity, and the castle is a fucking nightmare right now. No one outside knows what the hell is going on in there, and all the better, I say."

"Why?" Mille and Jira asked in tandem.

"A lot of bad that complicates our good. Crius did not come straight to Veoris after his jaunt to Tahrir. Came back here and decided to change things up."

"In what way, Mill?" Orlantha asked.

He moved to the table and poured his own cup of ale, drinking from the pitcher itself and then guzzling down his cup. "Slow down there, Mill," Orlantha chuckled. "We want you functional for this tale."

Milligan snorted and poured a second cup. "Right, functional. Well, let us start with the good news first. I know where my father is being held."

"That is fantastic!" Orlantha beamed. "Where at?"

"Underneath the cathedral. That is where the bad news comes in, and for that, we need to start with the castle. First off, as I said, Crius stopped here first, and he did not come here alone. The castle is full of these fucking metal things. Like golems from fantasy stories or automatons from Dwarven legends."

"You lie," Jira hissed.

"I don't, unfortunately. They are his guardians now. And the Queen's. Not that he needs them."

"The Devil himself could not make our lives as difficult as those things," Mille spat, throwing her cup to the floor and unleashing a torrent of profanities as she stomped around the room.

"It gets worse," Mill continued, downing his cup. "Second is that the Queen has usurped the throne from her husband. She is preparing for something horrible. My guess is that Crius will be aiming to do what he aims to do soon, which means that sword is in danger, and so are we."

"Is there a third?" Orlantha asked, burying the myriad of questions she wanted to ask.

"Yes, there is. Something that..." Milligan's expression darkened, his face becoming shadowed even in the light of the fireplace. His hands shook, and, at an angle, Orlantha could swear she saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

"What, Milligan?" Orlantha pressed, a shudder passing through her spine.

"As I learned from the Queen, things are worse than we thought. A lot worse. A lot worse."

The room was pitch quiet for minutes on end until Jira said: "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Aedol did not kill the overseer these Creators put in place. They still live...or were reborn. I don't know."

"Speak plainly, Milligan," demanded Jira.

Milligan continued on his way of speaking that neared mindless babbling. "Once forgotten of themselves, but no more thanks to your former friend...the bear-maiden. They remember now. They all remember now. In part thanks to you, Jira ne'Jiral. You awoke them with your expedition. Now they serve their purpose. We played right into their hands for it. Every single one of us. The King, my father, us. They have done this dance before, apparently through generations and generations of mortal life. They destroyed them all for whatever reason. Boredom? Tyranny? A war between each other that just brought everything low as collateral?"

"Milligan, calm yourself," Orlantha nearly pleaded.

"But ours? No...no, they're going to keep it alive. They have plans. They have plans to share with the rest of their fucking people. Or so the Queen said."

"Who, Milligan?" Orlantha asked in a voice quieter than a whisper, though she had a damned good idea of who he was speaking of - and it scared her nearly senseless. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

Milligan locked eyes with her, then Mille, and then Jira. "Crius. Crius is the Overseer. Crius is a damned Creator."