After that was even more waiting, the hours mostly passed with riddles and games. Occasionally the commander joined in, prompting them with a query that hadn’t considered, or suggestion on new rules to freshen the experience. The orange wash of sunrise was drifting over the tent when they heard the commotion. Sorore at this point was struggling to keep her eyes open - the experiences of the day had drained her

The vague milling about of soldiers turned to shouts and calls that mean had returned. Frare took her by the arm, but before he could haul her out of the tent to go see, Naia held up a hand.

“They’ll come to us, regardless of whether there’s anything to report,” he said, closing the journal and putting it aside.

A few minute later, Lillian pushed through the tent flap. Her hair was a mess, armour dented and scratched by the passage of some battle. Despite the beleaguered conditions, however, she moved with a nigh jubilant spring in her step. The real article of interest to the twins was the pair that entered behind her.

It was two women - one older, and one that might have been younger than Sorore. They shared the same dark hair and complexion, enough to indicate some level of familial relationship, perhaps a mother and her daughter. They were looking around apprehensively as they entered the tent, followed by Niche as he closed the flap behind him.

The girl’s eyes were the most striking thing about her, not an almond brown like her mother’s but a dark blue-green. Sorore was put in mind of the inner culvert of Erratz, how it filled at the top of the week. The sea-water would rush in from the central canal, and empty into the titanic stone basin. Some days, when the aqueducts had been flooded with rain water and the like, they’d even let the children swim in the full basin. The dark swirling water, catching the sunlight in blues and greens, was a parallel to those eyes.

But even her striking countenance was nothing compared to when Lillian held up her arm to display the glowing lines that whispered their way across. Sorore felt something pass through her, as if a whetstone was being dragged across her ribs. Her brother’s expression told that he’d experienced the exact same thing. Though she could hardly breath, she stepped forward with a smile at her new sister.

“Finally, we found you.”

The girl’s voice, when it came, was a small, scared thing. But there was a music in it that Sorore was sure that only she and her twin could hear.

“I’m sorry? I don’t know you. What are you talking about?”

Lillian promptly dropped to her knee, explaining that, firstly, they were of the Church, and the girl in front of them was a Bequeathed. The silence in response to that declaration was absolute, more because Sorore couldn’t do much more but tear up. The commander’s leaned back into the chair and gripped the bridge of his nose. His expression was less one of joy, and more that of a scholar realizing just how much he had to do.

“You’re going to declare it, right now? Right here?” he said.

“Do you question our authority to do so?” said Niche.

“No. But you of course realize that this mission is over, then,” he said with a sigh.

“At this point, Naia, I believe that is the least of our concerns,” said Lillian.

“Yes, yes. You’re probably right,” he said as he stared at the young girl, who was looking from face to face in abject confusion. We her eyes slid across the twins, Sorore felt her arms begin to pulse and hairs stand on end. The synergy was undeniable, cementing Lillian’s proclamation - they’d found her, by following ‘the hate’, whatever that was. While the adults were holding their equivalent of a staring contest, Sorore stepped forward to introduce herself.

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“I’m Sorore. What’s your name?” she said.

The girl was silent at first, eyes locked on the thin tracery that flowed up Sorore’s own hands. Then, slowly, tentatively, she responded, as if she was testing the mash depth with a long pole.

“I’m… Aya. Nice to meet you.”

The inflection seemed to indicate a question, although Sorore thought that it might be more reflective of a general confusion of the situation, rather than an imposition on her character. She tried to will some comfort into the girl, by venue of her smile, but that might have only been unnerving her. The commander’s face, by contrast to the paladins and the twins, could’ve been carved out of stone.

“The Choir needs to be informed. We have to turn back immediately - no silly undead castle could possibly be worth completing the set,” Lillian voice, normally so measured, was filled with a powerful excitement.

The commander continued his silent consideration, although Sorore thought for a moment she could see something flare in his eye. It made little sense to her - this was a cause for celebration, not anger, or was that sorrow. Had he really been that invested in this mission? The tension quickly dissipated as he sighed once more, ruffling his hair and brushing it back from his face.

“Agreed. You must forgive my reticence, it’s an understatement to say I find this shocking. I would’ve never expected to find the final Bequeathed wandering somewhere in the northern woods. But where are my manners?” he said, directing the remarks toward Aya and her mother, “I’m sure you are quite confused about all of this. Please, sit. Lord Frare, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He indicated a set of stools, that the twins had spent little time occupying. Frare brought them forwards, and the two strangers sat in front of the commander and his map.

“I… imagine you have many questions,” he said, reaching for the words as he spun them, “I will not be able to answer all of them, I’m afraid. The most important point, however, if that you are someone of immense value to us.”

“Value? Me?” said Aya, pointing at herself.

“Perhaps the easiest place to start would be introductions. I am commander Naia, who has the honour of leading the sixth battalion, subject under the second army of the holy city of Angorrah.”

He waved to the two paladins, who were standing behind them.

“These are Niche and Lillian, both recognized and ordained paladins of the light lords of Angorrah. I’m sure if any of us have need as spiritual advisor, they will be more than happy to serve in that capacity. Although, for our purposes I believe that we will only need one. Niche, could you please inform the men that they are to prepare themselves to leave immediately? I trust someone of your capacity to get them ready quickly.”

Sorore could see the paladin turning the statement over in his head, trying to gauge whether it was an insult or not. Either deciding that it wasn’t, or wasn’t worth pursuing, he left through the flap. Lillian came around to a respectful distance from the girl and her mother, to lean against a barrel. That being said, the way she had locked eyes on Aya trespassed well beyond being polite.

“As I was saying, the long and short of it is that we’ve been looking for you for a very, very long time,” he continued.

“There must be some mistake,” the older woman began before her daughter cut her off.

“Sixty-years, or there about?” he said, looking at Lillian.

“Sixty-three. Since the death of holy Talce,” she said, with a nod of appreciation.

“I know that this must be very confusing and abrupt,” he said, turning back from the paladin to the women, “believe me, I am very much aware of the feeling right now. I was never given protocols to resolve this situation.”

“I was,” said Lillian quickly.

Naia ignored the interjection, speaking calm and slow, as if to a frightened animal.

“I understand that this might be difficult to accept but-“

“What do you want with my daughter?” said the woman, her eyes growing hard, mouth set in a grim line.

“What we want…” said the man, but more as a musing rather than a introduction, “our duty would be to escort the girl to the Holy City of Angorrah. Or at least, that’s hers. I feel that it would be a reasonable assumption that I am obliged to help her.”

“It would,” Lillian said, giving Naia a look that indicated she was not pleased by his uncertain language.

The woman said nothing, merely gripped the hand of her daughter. The look that she was giving the commander was downright venomous.

“You come from the village to the west, no?” he said, holding up his hands as if he was being held at sword point, “if I recall correctly, your husband asked us to find you on our way east. Rather ironic that our paths crossed again, but that’s the way it’s turned out. I’m afraid, for better or worse, our hands are tied. However, I think it would not be unreasonable to return to the village to discuss on more… familiar ground.”

“Tles canone pithela,” said Naia, in a language that Sorore recognized. It was Karkosian, of Karkos, where he father had lead more than one trade mission. He’d returned with spices from Hebeen, casks of sea salt, a long, stringed instrument, and one of the beautiful paintings she’d ever seen. She wondered if it was still hung above the family hearth, back in Erratz. For all that, however, he’d said that their keenest treasure where that of food and song, unlike anywhere he’d ever been.

The woman’s face softened at the remark, and she responded with a separate phrase. Soroe wondered if this was some sort of code or secret greeting, given her reaction. The commander’s face shifted into a smile, though it seemed a thin, sad expression.

“I don’t believe we have any extra horses, so I suppose you’ll have to ride in the carriage. You have my apologies if you find it slightly cramped. Lillian, do we have any stragglers ?

“None. Though I’m sure you’re going to want to hear it from that tally-man you keep around.”

“Efficient record-keeping is the hallmark of a well-organized effort. That being said, I would like to speak with him before we set out. Could you send someone to find him to report on your way out?”

Soroe took her brother’s hand as she passed by the pair, following the paladin as she exited the meeting.

“Come on! I’ll show you to the carriage - it’s rather nice.”