“I’m worried, Nia.” Hwalín gave an exasperated sigh as the two walked around the weathered structure. The Hecatian ran her fingers along the various sightless statues that were inlaid among the walls, encased in a petrified act of wailing. “I ain’t ever seen a boneyard this large. Or this freaky. I know this is her whole deal and all, but I still don’t trust it. Maybe we should’ve gone along with her.”

“We should not be ones to question Alma’s beliefs. If it serves to keep her grounded, then we should be content with just that.” Her gaze ran the length of the building before turning to the towering hand-shaped minarets grasping at the heavens in the distance. It is a wonder, is it not? The things a strong faith can inspire mortals to accomplish. And to such lengths! It is such a rich tapestry to behold.”

“Yeah? Well that faith got her sister killed. And Alm was in complete denial over the whole thing. I thought she was never gonna leave her bloody room. And then suddenly she's just changed her mind? I know I should feel bloody thrilled, but there's this nagging in the back of my head…”

“Alma’s sister, if indeed she has passed, has simply gone— mind and soul—to meet her goddess. Her mind made one with Macha, according to Alma. And if nature has willed it, her soul returned to the oneness of the universe soul. In a way, no childling is ever truly gone.”

“Ah, yeah. I'm sure Alm was keeping that sentiment close to her breast. Still, I doubt that's what she meant when she kept muttering she's not dead several times a night behind her bedroom door.”

It had taken a moment for Alma's eyes to adjust to the darkness after she had crossed the threshold after descending the stairs. The first thing she had noticed were the wall-to-wall columbarium rows of intricate, gold-lined and marble-carven urns stretching endlessly down into depths of abyssal shadows. Cremation was one of the more common methods of disposal allowed to be chosen by the decorated priestess before her death, perhaps to avoid the cruel sentence decreed by the handmaiden psychopomps for those deemed unworthy of Macha’s grace. Inurnment prominently displayed as soon as one enters the crypt, each with old engraved labels of the lost name of a sister long past. Every urn was marred with centuries of dust and cobwebs. Mazes of archways continued deep into the inner layers of the tunnel, sinking into the dimly lit edge of oblivion.

Alma could only forge onward through this alley of death. As bad as it was, it wasn't as completely terrifying as it could have been. The sniperess had actually been half-expecting bones to be sticking out from the walls every now and again. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about the odor. As she walked past the unending rows of cremated women, the malign smell of mold and decay only grew stronger. The urns surrounding her began to appear more and more archaic in form and material—far older than the given appearance of the mausoleum above—they seemed almost ancient. After what felt like several minutes, the corridor exited into a large chamber that appeared wholly different from where she had just been. The room looked more inline with the interior of the mausoleum above with walls made of decorated marble and plaques inscribed with cryptic psalms. At each cardinal direction was another corridor that led deeper into the underground catacombs. But directly in front of her, at the heart of the chamber, was an enormous column with an engraved listing of the hundreds if not thousands of names and plots of the deceased priestesses. It was exactly what Alma had been looking for.

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“Simple enough,” she muttered to herself, skimming over the countless names on the list. “Zula’s tomb is really down here…? Man, that’s a lot of names. Do they really replace this whole thing every time they want to add a name? No, wait. They’re just tiles. Still, I wonder who’s in charge of this dumb thing. Couldn’t be Master Tiberius. It seems like such a menial job. I’m sure he has someone do it for him. I’d do it for him. If he asked. I doubt I’d be able to say no to anything he’d ask of me. Not that I’d want to… Wait! Here!” Her ramblings finally ended as she spotted the name she was looking for. The number for her sister’s plot matched the range of numbers above one of the corridors exiting from the room. In no time at all, she continued her descent to her sister’s empty grave.

Passing room after room as swiftly as she could, Alma had finally found Zula’s place of sepulcher. Lodged in between Sister Daniela and Sister Odette, was Sister Zulema. Or at least, where she was meant to be after she died. There was a feeling slowly sinking deeper and deeper into Alma’s heart, pushing against the dam she put up. A dam that was on the verge of bursting open. The ex-soldier slowly got on her knees and rested her forehead on the small, golden plate bearing her sister’s name.

“Zula.” Alma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that were begging to come out. “I just wanted to say… I know you can’t hear this, but… Ugh. Of course you can’t hear this. You’re not in here. You’re not even up there with Macha. You’re somewhere out there. Being the same old dork I grew up with. A dork that’s probably scared half to death. I know I haven’t been the perfect sister. I know what a pain I’m always being, but you were the only one in our family to never call me out on it. You were always there for me. Even when you didn’t approve of the things I did, you always supported my decisions. Except when it came to love… But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, you’d never give up on me. And the least I can do is show you the same courtesy. As my sister.”

Alma pulled out the round wooden charm from her pocket. The smell of ground holly leaves and something else inside were faint, but still quite noticeable. It was the kind of scent that was always inexplicably found in churches. It had felt like Zula was standing there next to her. The ex-soldier stood up, squeezing the object in her hand.

“I’m not giving up. I’ll continue on this quest and I will find you. I can sense you out there, somehow. It’s just a feeling I have, but my gut never lets me down. I—" Something had crossed Alma’s peripheral vision, causing her to cut her sentence short.