The Hecatian mustered up what courage she had. She needed to prepare herself, having never dealt with someone so emotionally devastated as Alma had been some days ago after she received the news that her sister had perished in a war the young ex-soldier should have been a part of. Hwalín hadn't really known what it was like to lose a member of the family, nor how tragic it could be, considering Hecatians tended to die quite often and without much ceremony. But humans lived trite, uneventful lives which made cherishing relationships for them a lot more understandable.
Alma’s sister Zulema's funeral came and went relatively quickly in the span of the few days since they returned. It seemed that a priestess's requiem is prepared almost immediately after the Church is notified of their death. In keeping with the first-rate treatment that priestesses receive, most if not all services are bought and paid for by the Scarlet Church, including tuition, housing and all forms of insurance. Alma had decided to forego the wake and funeral, because in her mind the absence of a body meant that there was still reasonable doubt of her sister’s death. She declared the whole thing an empty gesture performed by the Church to put the matter to rest rather than waste resources to extract a prisoner of war.
“Alm, come on,” shouted Hwalín from the outside of Alma’s bedroom. She had decided she was going to try and attempt to raise the ex-soldier’s spirits. Despite getting no answer, she shrugged and spoke through the door anyway. “Your mum's been worried sick about you. She understands why ya missed the funeral, but she still thinks you oughta pay your respects. Soldierin’ folk die in battle all the time. It's a thing to be proud of. You should know that more'n anyone. You can't just shut the world out.”
“Who am I paying respects to?” Alma finally mumbled back. “There wasn't even a fucking body in that coffin. They never found it. She's missing and those bastards declared her dead. What if she was captured by enemy forces? What if some monster is torturing my poor sister as we speak? Poor Zula who would never even hurt a bug! There's no way she would abandon us. Abandon me.”
“Would you really prefer that to her being dead?”
Alma hesitated to answer. “I don't know.”
“Think it’s about time you wiped away them tears and came out. Reckon it’s about time you finally pay your respects to your dear, sweet sister, yeah?”
Hwalín listened in for a response. A moment of silence passed, before a shuffling could be heard on the other side of the door. The Hecatian braced herself when the door suddenly swung open. Alma stood fully dressed and at the ready, the pack on her back full, she seemed intent on departing somewhere.
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“You’re right, Hwal. I should at least go see where her grave is marked. You’ll take me there, won’t you? Grab Q too. There’s no point wasting time here. I’ll meet you outside.”
“Whoa, you changed your mind bloody quick. We’re going now? Like, right now? You’ve barely even said a word to your parents since they broke the news. Ain’t even gonna catch up with ‘em?”
Alma shook her head. “There’s no time. They’re always coming and going from here anyway. I’ll just catch them on the next one.”
Hwalín watched as Alma rushed down the stairs, trying her best to sprint toward the door without garnering any attention. The Hecatian, curious as a gatin, snuck a look inside Alma’s room. Various posters of cartoons, games, and renderings of cryptids along with messages of the truth being out there haphazardly lined one of the walls by her bed, which had remained completely unmade, with blankets just thrown on top of the mattress without a care. In the corner was a long desk where her computer sat, her chair was worn out and tilting to one side. Beside the monitor of her computer was a very ancient looking television box hooked up to an even older looking video player. The type they don’t really sell physical media for anymore. Maybe retro was just her thing? On the other side was a large mirror that made up the door to her closet. Hwalín suspected her gun cabinet must have been sitting inside, considering how often Alma would brag about it yet it was strangely missing from view. As Hwalín slowly inched toward the closet door, a voice startled her from exploring any further.
“Judging by the state of things, I assume you have finally managed to make progress in extracting Alma from her room?” Qu’l-Nia had managed to sneak up on Hwalín, standing mere inches behind her. “Only to have lost her once again it seems.”
“No, she uh… She’s waiting for us outside.” Hwalín turned toward the bedroom door. “Said she was ready to keep going.”
“Splendid. I was beginning to worry. We have wasted enough time here already and who knows what our enemies are up to while we dawdle.”
“Hey, Nia, I saw you talking to Alm’s mum earlier. What was that about?”
“Mrs. Mesial seemed to be curious as to why all of Alma’s acquaintances had such queer dispositions. She seemed awed at first by my formal manner of speech, though I am not quite sure what she is referring to. She also requested that we watch over Alma as best we could.”
“Well, I don’t blame Alma for being so cold to them. They seemed to have gotten past one of their daughters dying relatively quickly.”
“They seemed to understand that the death of a priestess of the Scarlet Church is consequential of a higher power and therefore still feel blessed that she was able to serve as much as she had. They knew it was a possibility. Or so they expressed as much.”
“Then I guess we better be there for Alm best we can be. Not that we weren’t doing a great job already.” Hwalín flashed a smile. “Come on, she’s waitin’ for us outside.”
As the two made their way out the front door, Hwalín finally caught sight of Alma leaning against a porch post. She was staring far off into the distance, following something invisible with her eye before taking a swig from a small metal flask in her hand.
“Did you look?” asked Alma.
“Look at what?” replied Hwalín.
“You looked in my room, didn’t you?” The sniper took another swig from her flask. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. “Pretty sweet, huh?”