4-9

As Bossia left Canal Prison and returned to the other side, she noticed a man with a half-eye patch standing a Shawlt distance ahead. His remaining left eye was fixed on her. As she and the guards approached, the man stepped back and moved ahead of them.

"Hey, slow down," he said.

"Get out of the way," one of the guards said, ready to draw his sword.

"That's not proper. When Hylan gave his speech, I secured half the plaza, so technically, we're colleagues. You can't just draw your sword on a colleague."

"Are you with the MI7?"

"Hey, lady in the back. You're Bossia Wislanzo, right? I'm Elin Tias, Jorgen's friend and senior. See this?" Elin waved a silver plaque above his head to catch Portia's eye. "This shows I often work with him. You probably haven't seen it; it's mostly to show my sincerity. I want to know, how's Jorgen doing up there? They won't let me in."

"Stop what you're doing," the guard said, knowing the situation shouldn't continue but also aware he couldn't act against someone from the MI7.

"I'm not doing anything." Elin continued speaking to Bossia. "I'm not asking about what you talked about or did, just how he's doing. Like asking about a patient's well-being. Is he hungry, does he look okay?"

"He's… alright, I guess," Bossia said. "It's too dark in there. I couldn't see clearly."

"Is he shackled? Not beaten, I hope?"

"Neither. He's just sitting in his cell. At least I didn't see any injuries."

"Alright, sir. She's an important guest of the cathedral. Please stop bothering her." One guard spoke while the other used the authority of the cathedral guards to signal nearby patrols to gather.

"Guest? I doubt that. But I've finished my questions." Elin stepped aside. "Thank you, ma'am. Next time we meet, please just call me Elin; it's easier for both of us. Thank you for your answers. It's good to hear he's not suffering. I need to inform others. You probably can't imagine, but there are more women than men concerned about his well-being, including my own family. And you two," he turned to the guards, "thanks for your patience and tolerance. If you lose a purse in the Old Town, feel free to ask me for help."

"Please go, Miss Bossia," one guard urged.

They continued walking. A dozen steps away, Bossia turned back and saw the stranger with one eye still watching her. At first, she was cautious, but his way of questioning made her feel it was okay to share Jorgen's condition. Besides, he had emphasized not needing details on what was said or done, clearly a hint. Now, though he kept a smile, his eye's warmth and curiosity had turned to a subtle focus, like leaves quieting as evening approaches. He nodded; she returned the nod before looking ahead.

Bossia could believe Jorgen had such a friend. This encounter wasn't accidental; he must have planned it, and his initial remarks showed he knew something about her. His final nod was both gratitude and acknowledgment.

Knowing others cared about Jorgen's safety made Bossia feel the trip was worthwhile. After hearing some of Jorgen's experiences from Hylan, she hadn't felt much reality, as she hadn't met any of the people in the stories. Jorgen, isolated in prison, felt distant. But now, even though she didn't know Elin Tias's name before, she felt she had finally connected with someone who shared experiences with Jorgen, making Hylan's stories begin to turn from illusion to reality.

Someone stood by him.

Someone stood by us.

That's enough, Bossia told herself. This didn't mean the situation was clear or less distressing than expected. She didn't want Jorgen to see her as simply naive.

As the guards led Bossia past an alley near the cathedral square, about twenty people appeared from different directions and started to surround them. Among them, Bossia recognized an elderly man she had seen at the square earlier, who had insisted she shouldn't stay at the Cathedral of the Holy Light.

The guards, now flanking Bossia, adopted a defensive stance that looked awkward due to their lack of combat experience. Bossia could feel their barely concealed nervousness. In fact, the crowd's target was clearly her, and she should have been the one to feel tense, but her heart rate remained steady. She had fought in the Zora Swarm, and these people weren't even fighters. She heard the words "traitor," "apostate," and "fraud" whispered from behind and beside her, as had happened earlier today. They repeated, along with other harsh labels thrown at her...

Seeing the guards' panic, Bossia suddenly realized something. When she was under house arrest, she had four paladins watching her, not members of the cathedral guard, but directly under Nehari's command. Nehari wouldn't employ inexperienced soldiers. If he were in charge, he would know these two couldn't ensure her safety or prevent her from escaping. Whoever was responsible for this trip to Canal Prison might not mind something happening along the way.

They don't want me to get the relic. If I die or escape, I'll never get it. Jorgen warned me about Hylan. He was right.

"Make way," one guard said. "Obstructing the Cathedral Guard's duties is not only against Stormwind's laws but also a heretical act for a follower of the Holy Light."

"Only the Light can decide who is a heretic. Any mortal who judges in place of the Light is foolish and blasphemous," said the leader of the group. "Clearly, the Light has already made a just judgment. Look at Benedictus's end: struck with plague, rotting away. He was the greatest heretic, and now the Stormwind church is the biggest den of those tolerating insults to the Light."

"Shut up. Do you know how crazy you sound?" the guard said.

"It's the True Prayer Society," the guard behind Bossia muttered.

True Prayer Society. Bossia had heard of this group from Hylan. They believed Benedictus was the root of the church's corruption, punished by the Light with a plague. A member had committed suicide during a MI7 raid, causing controversy over their methods.

"No, madness only resides in the hearts of heretics," the leader said. "You two, wearing the armor symbolizing honor, yet protecting the former disciple of Benedictus—isn't that madness? And you, woman," he pointed at Bossia, "Benedictus is dead, and you've come to take his place. The Light won't tolerate such filth…"

Bossia felt these people weren't aiming for violence. No one had real weapons, and the long speeches suggested they only wanted to denounce her. She considered how to convey this to the guards to avoid trouble, but it was too late. The leader's words had evidently exceeded the front guard's tolerance. He shouted and stepped forward, slashing with his sword. The speaker fell back, clutching his face as blood poured through his fingers.

"Shameful, shameful…" the guard said, seemingly unaware of anyone else, intent on delivering a fatal blow. Someone threw a rock, hitting his helmet's left side. As he was distracted, several people tackled him. One grabbed his sword arm and pressed down with all his weight. They started kicking him, and some, feeling this wasn't effective, picked up rocks to hit him. The guard raised his left hand, fingers spread, hoping for help, but someone broke two of his fingers.

The guard behind Bossia looked around. There were over ten attackers on that side, while at most six people blocked his side, and none had moved. He charged, intending to cut a path. The closest was a woman in her fifties, who crouched down, but the guard didn't stop, thinking that striking one or two would intimidate the rest and allow him to escape. Besides, these people attacked the Cathedral Guard and deserved punishment.

Before he could cause harm, Bossia took his sword, tripped him, and immediately pushed away the most aggressive attackers, waving the sword to drive the rest back. Someone tried to rush at her, but found no opportunity.

"Nobody move a muscle." After saying this, Bossia looked down at the fallen guard—he looked bad but wasn't in mortal danger—and then around. The other guard had just gotten up after being disarmed and tripped. The attackers on both sides had backed off, with three or four already fleeing. The remaining ones could only watch her, their eyes filled with a mix of malice and apprehension, even though she hadn't harmed anyone.

Silence settled, broken only by the occasional groans of the injured.

Bossia knew everyone was waiting for her next move. Aside from running, they had no other options. This allowed her a moment to reflect.

Minutes earlier, she had reached into the cage, her hand trembling with fear that there'd be no response. Then she heard a series of sounds from the darkness: feet pushing off the ground, fabric rustling, a sharp intake of breath as the figure straightened, followed by footsteps. Only four or five steps away; she could still distinguish each one.

Jorgen approached the bars, the light in the corridor, and Bossia. She looked up slightly, seeing his face. Now she knew she hadn't been speaking to a mere shadow in the dark.

He had grasped her wrist but gently pushed her hand out of the bars. Bossia felt the cold, rough iron rust against her fingers.

"Go back," he said. "Wherever you came from. Go back."

His voice wasn't just tired and weary; it also carried something she knew well, the kind of assurance that used to calm her eight years ago.

Bossia didn't lack a place to return to, nor did she lack the opportunity to do so. Now she held a sword. Around her were two incapacitated guards and a dozen civilians, their breaths shallow with fear. A breeze blew through the alley, stirring the ever-present dust from one person's feet to another's.

She couldn't bring herself to leave.