By The Grace of Ilona

The sun-lit marble courtyard was enveloped in a golden haze, dappled by the stretched shadows of lofty pillars. The air here was filled with the whiff of myrrh. A row of columns circled the space, its archways leading into the deluxe courtyard where the higher echelon of heavenly gods lounged in leisure.

Taranis stood at the balustrade, looking down at the streaming waterfalls that poured into a golden basin far below. His broad shoulders draped in a sleeveless tunic, jerked with barely restrained anger, small lightning sparks pulsing from his fingertips as his hands gripped the railing. "This is a mistake," he said, voice as deep as thunder. "An ultimatum? You gave Duvran an ultimatum?" He turned around to Eolan, who remained silent, seated in a high-backed chair at the center of the gathering, motionless and unexpressive.

Taranis scoffed. "Do you not see the risk? Duvran is unpredictable. We should assume the worst, that he already has the Aetherion. He may even be conspiring with Dain. And if that is the case, what then? There's no way Duvran would actually torture his own brother for information."

Morrigan, lounging with one arm hanging over the side of his chair, exhaled slowly. "We cannot afford a war right now." His voice was calm, his long dark hair tied back to reveal scars across his neck and jawline. "Our losses would be too great. And if we are weakened when the Titans rise again, we will be annihilated."

Taranis looked at him with an intense scowl. "Listen to yourself. The god of war, advocating for peace. Is this about your daughter? Considering she's one of Duvran's loyal enforcers."

The moment he uttered these words, Morrigan's fingers squeezed against the armrest, causing it to crack. "Macha is not my daughter."

Taranis chuckled lightly. "It's convenient that you would deny her. But we all remember how she followed her mother to the depths of the infernal realm. Is that why you hesitate? Because your blood still runs through her veins?"

Morrigan straightened in his chair, his crimson robe shuffling and his gaze as sharp as a drawn blade. "Watch your tone."

Before the exchange could escalate into violence, Ogma, seated beside Eolan, sighed. "Enough. Both of you just shut up." His gaze swept over them, eons of wisdom in his eyes. "Taranis, you thirst for war not out of necessity, but because of your own ambition. You've made it very obvious you want control over the Maw of Uraith."

Taranis's eyes flashed with subtle guilt. "That's absurd. My only concern is the Aetherion."

Ogma nodded slowly, rising to his feet as the metallic strands of his hair fell over his shoulders. "Then answer this, if the Aetherion is recovered, and the Titans rise again, would you be willing to make the same sacrifice our dear Ilona made thousands of years ago?"

Taranis said nothing.

Then Ogma turned to Morrigan. "And you, you claim this has nothing to do with Macha, but your hesitation tells me otherwise. You must accept that war may be necessary. If it comes to that, will you stand with us, or will you waver?"

Morrigan didn't answer.

Ogma exhaled and sat back down. "Our focus should be on securing the Aetherion without relying on Duvran. We need a plan, one of our own." He turned to Eolan. "Shall I see to it?"

Eolan, who remained silent throughout the argument, gave him just a slight nod.

Before another word could be said, heavy footsteps echoed through the marble corridor. One of Eolan's seven sons stepped into the archway, an imposing figure of stone, seven feet tall. He bowed. "My Eternal Lord, you have a visitor."

Eolan gave him an acknowledging gesture, just a restrained nod. The young deity stepped aside, revealing the figure behind him; Duvran.

The infernal Lord of Darkness walked into the chamber with the attitude of a predator walking into another's den. His eyes skimmed over the other gathered gods, but he did not acknowledge them as he walked up to Eolan.

A wicked smirk formed on his face. "Lord of the Wind and Skies, I know my presence here is… unorthodox. But I've come with a request."

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The loud clang of steel against steel engulfed the Vanguard Barracks training yard, accompanied by the occasional barked out orders of senior soldiers and the thud of boots on the hardened ground. The morning sun was high in the sky, beating down on the recruits as if testing them alongside their instructors. Rows of recruits fought in paired drills, their bodies covered with sweat.

Edrik stood at the edge of the yard, his arms folded and his sharp eyes sweeping over the recruits as they trained under the scrutinizing eyes of their drillmasters. He was in his usual dark Vanguard leathers, his short-cropped hair already moist with the day's heat.

He moved to a slender young man struggling against his heavier opponent. The recruit's grip on his practice blade was too tight, his knuckles stiff with tension.

"Loosen your grip," Edrik said. "You're holding that sword like it's trying to escape. That much tension will slow you down."

The recruit's throat bobbed as he adjusted his grip. When his opponent struck again, he blocked with ease, although his movements were still stiff.

"Better," Edrik said. "But you're thinking too much. Stop trying to control the sword, guide it."

He walked past them, nodding in approval when he saw a pair clashing with precision. But a few feet away, another recruit was wavering, his stance too narrow. A well-placed strike from his sparring partner caused him to stumble back.

In two wide strides, Edrik reached them. "If you plant your feet like that, you'll be on your back before the fight even begins."

The recruit straightened up, a hint of embarrassment on his sunburnt face. "Yes, sir."

Edrik nudged the recruit's foot with his boot. "Wider stance. Knees loose, weight balanced. You should be able to shift in any direction without overcommitting."

The recruit adjusted. Edrik gave them a brief nod and moved on.

A yelp caught his attention. Down the line, a young woman had just taken a hard blow to her ribs, curling in pain. Her opponent hesitated, unsure if he should continue the attack or step back.

Edrik walked up to them. "What are you waiting for?" he growled at the hesitant recruit. "You think the enemy will give her time to recover?"

The recruit stepped back into position, nodding hesitantly.

Edrik faced the injured recruit, who was standing straight due to his presence but still grasping her ribs. "Pain teaches you," he said, his voice lower but still as firm. "It tells you where you're weak, what you need to fix. Let it sharpen you, not slow you down."

She exhaled, bracing herself with an understanding nod.

"Good." He looked at the two of them. "Again."

The clinks of swords and exerted grunts resumed, creating the symphony that constantly droned throughout the training yard. Edrik stepped away, his eyes already scanning for the next mistake to fix, the next soldier to sharpen.

Then he saw Garrick and his squad riding in through the barracks gate,dust clinging to their armor and weariness in their eyes. There was no victory in their return, as their horses came to a stop in the open yard.

Edrik watched Garrick dismount quietly. The Captain carried himself with the usual discipline, his jaw tight but he unbuckled his gauntlets in an unusually stiff manner. Edrik walked up to him.

"How did it go?" He asked. "Were you able to rescue the child?"

Garrick didn't even look at him as he brushed past him, walking towards the main barracks entrance, his silence answering the question better than words could.

Edrik furrowed his brow in confusion, watching Garrick walk away. He exhaled through his nostrils, turning around as his gaze settled on Aric, who had just handed his reins to Caden. Without wasting any time, Edrik lifted a hand, signaling Aric to follow him.

Aric hesitated for a while before sighing tiredly and stepping away from the others. He fell into step behind Edrik as they moved toward the quieter part of the yard, where the chaos of the training drills faded into the background.

"You're about to ask me what I did, aren't you?" Aric muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact with Edrik.

Edrik stopped at the edge of the practice yard, his piercing gaze almost burning a hole through Aric. "No need to ask. I already know you went off on your own."

Aric looked away, his jaw tensed. "We were too late. The kid was already dead before we got there."

Edrik raised a brow in doubt. "And how exactly did that happen?"

Aric's silence was longer than usual.

"Aric," Edrik snarled.

Aric sighed weakly in defeat. "I broke off from the group," he admitted. "Garrick felt he found a trail, but I followed the actual Wyron's tracks. I found where it had taken the child."

Edrik inhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. "Of course you did." He facepalmed in frustration, pacing about before pausing in front of Aric. "I had you placed in Garrick's squad for a reason, Aric. He works well with younger soldiers like you:headstrong, reckless, but even Garrick has his limits." He took a step closer, lowering his voice as he stared Aric right in the eyes. "Do you ever think before you act?"

Aric's fists clenched by his sides. "I promised Selenna I'd bring the boy back. I couldn't just stand around while..."

"I don't give a damn what you promised Selenna," Edrik growled. "You were out there as a Vanguard soldier, not a hero on some personal quest."

Aric scoffed, shaking his head and looking away. "If I hadn't gone after the Wyron, we'd still be out there chasing false trails. It deliberately misled us, Edrik. The tracks looped back on themselves. I saw through it. And if I hadn't..."

"You still didn't save the child," Edrik interrupted. "And you defied Garrick's orders in the process."

Aric opened his mouth to reply but had no comeback for that.

Edrik breathed out, rubbing his palm down his face. "You need to apologize to him because you obviously haven't."

Aric's face darkened with displeasure. "I won't apologize for doing what I thought was right."

Edrik's patience began to wear out. "You're lucky Garrick didn't leave you out there." He stepped back. "But don't think you'll get away without punishment."

Aric shrugged nonchalantly. "I figured as much."

Edrik stared at him for a moment, then shook his head in disappointment. "I'll talk to Garrick."

"No need," Aric groaned.

But Edrik didn't listen. He scowled at Aric before walking off toward the main barracks entrance, leaving the young soldier standing alone under the sun.

Aric and the others watched as Edrik walked across the yard toward Garrick who was at the main entrance. The Captain stood before a wooden trough, yanking off his pauldrons irritatedly. His body armor followed, unbuckled and tossed aside with little care. Dust stained his tunic, and his face was devoid of any expression as he pulled the sweat-soaked cloth over his head, leaving his hairy torso bare. Without any word, he splashed cold water onto his face, rubbing the dirt from his skin like he was trying to scrub away a bad memory.

Edrik approached him from behind with caution, although there was no hesitation in his steps. He'd known Garrick long enough to easily read his moods, and this one was bad.

"You're worked up," Edrik said, watching Garrick bent over the trough. "Look, about Aric..."

Garrick huffed slowly, wiping water off his face before straightening, his expression indifferent. "If the demons don't kill him, I just might."

Edrik sighed. "Come on, Garrick. He's reckless, yes, but you and I both know..."

"He disobeyed orders," Garrick snapped, his voice high enough to attract attention from nearby soldiers. "Again. Out there, that gets people killed. And yet here you are, once again, covering for him." He turned around, his eyes meeting Edrik's. "I'm fed up with him. And I'm fed up with you constantly cleaning up his messes."

Edrik didn't flinch, maintaining eye contact. "You think I don't know that he's a handful?" He let out a forced chuckle. "That's exactly why I put him under your command. Because I trust you to keep him alive."

Garrick shook his head, looking away in disbelief. "You expect me to keep him alive when he clearly doesn't want to be alive. He shouldn't even be here, Edrik. He's not Dunmorian, yet you still secured him a place in the Vanguard."

Panic surged all over Edrik 's face. He stepped closer, looking around warily and lowering his voice. "Quiet down about that."

Garrick's eyes darted around, checking if anyone overheard him. He exhaled through his nose in frustration, his voice low. "Still protecting him."

"And you're still hiding your own sins," Edrik sneered back, his words carrying deep meaning. "We both have things we'd rather keep buried, Garrick."

Something flashed in Garrick's eyes, something between resentment and an understanding he didn't want to accept. Then he smirked, cold and chilly. "Maybe, one day, my secrets won't have a hold on me anymore."

Before Edrik could respond, a throaty voice called out across the yard.

"Where are the soldiers? Step forward."

The unmistakable voice was that of High Priest Dhrun, the most senior healer in Dunmore and guardian of the crystal of Ilona, flanked by his robed acolytes. One of them held a large basin of water. Dhrun's presence alone attracted attention, his deep blue embroidered ceremonial robe swallowing his imposing frame.

"It is time for your cleansing," he voiced out, eyes sweeping across the yard.

Garrick sighed and walked away from Edrik, heading toward the priest. The others; Caden, Aric, Lyra, following suit. Edrik accepting defeat, strode over the the open yard to continue the training.

But Nessa separated from them and began strolling in the direction Dhrun had just come from, avoiding eye contact with the priest.

Dhrun's predatory eyes immediately latched onto her timid figure at the corner of his vision. "Nessa," he called, his voice soft with familiarity but yet commanding. "You will wait for me in the temple."

She stopped but didn't turn around, clenching her fists. She stood there for a short while before she finally exhaled and resumed walking.

Aric watched her disappear into the temple's archway and then in Dhrun's eyes he could see the appraisal and lust as the priest's gaze followed her

Dhrun returned his attention to the soldiers lined out before him. One by one, he scooped from the warm, sacred water and poured it over their heads, murmuring words as he did. The water was said to cleanse the spirit, to wash away whatever contamination they might have brought back from the wilderness.

"By the grace of Ilona, let the impurities of the beyond be purged from your soul. May the goddess's light shield you from unseen corruption, and may your path remain untethered by darkness."

But deep down, Aric doubted it washed away failure.

When the ritual was complete, Dhrun stepped back. "You are cleansed," he declared. Without saying another word, he and his followers turned around, heading toward the temple.

Garrick was already moving towards the main barracks before the priest even left the scene.

"Aric," he said, not even looking back. "Report to the courtyard. Immediately."

Then he walked away, leaving no room for argument.

Aric unfastened his sword holster, the leather straps squeaking as he took it off his waist and thrust it into Caden's hands. Caden took it, his eyes filled with concern, but Aric had already turned away, striding behind Garrick toward whatever punishment awaited him.

Across from the Vanguard barracks, the stone-paved temple grounds stretched out in the heart of Dunmore, a monument of white marble and towering pillars. Atop the temple stood a large stone statue of the goddess Ilona. Her arms were outstretched and her face tilted upwards to the heavens. The bright beam emanated from her eyes and shot up to the dome, a constant reminder of Ilona's watchful gaze.

Nessa sat on the wrong temple steps, her elbows resting on her knees and her fingers gripping the edge of her cloth. She inhaled deeply, her eyes wandering. Around her, priests and acolytes moved with their usual grace, their hushed murmurs blending with the distant drone of the city beyond the temple walls.

But none of it mattered.

Her stomach twisted as she spotted Dhrun and his acolytes approaching, his flowing robe barely moving as he took deliberate steps. The acolytes by his side carried themselves with their sense air of superiority, their expressions as empty as their supposed purity. Nessa looked away in disgust, knowing what was underneath all that display.

"You hate him."

The voice startled her.

She turned her head to see a young man standing a few feet away, leaning casually against a pillar. She hadn't noticed him standing there before. From the way he was dressed, he definitely wasn't a healer or a temple clergy. His attire was simpler, marked with arcane symbols along the sleeves. His refined demeanor as well as the amulet he wore showed that he was a mage.

"I see it in your eyes," he continued, looking at the approaching Priest.

Nessa frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The young mage tilted his head slightly in amusement, chuckling at her feigned ignorance. "It's alright," he said. "I hate him too."

An uneasy feeling surged through her as she sat up straighter, looking around. She didn't want to have this conversation, not here, not now. "I don't want any trouble," she muttered.

"There's no trouble only understanding," he assured her. "I'm just observant." His voice lowered. "I know what he does to the young female healers and I understand."

The nausea in her stomach increased, but she refused to look up at him. She didn't want to hear it, didn't want to acknowledge it. She was already drowning in it.

"You don't understand shit and I don't need your sympathy," she snapped.

His smirk faded. "I didn't mean to..."

"Just go," she cut him off, her voice tense.

She could feel the young man stare at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a calm nod, he backed away. "Fair enough," he said simply. He turned and walked off.

Nessa exhaled shakily, staring ahead and holding back tears that had brimmed her eyes.

Dhrun had reached the temple steps. He paused, turning to his acolytes and murmuring something under his breath. Without hesitation, they bowed and departed.

His cold eyes settled on her. "Where is your cloak?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, he was already climbing the steps toward the temple's grand entrance.

"Come," he said without looking back.

There was no choice. There never was. She had been trained to heal, but there was no healing for her here.