Estingai burst from the vision with a ragged sob. She shut her mouth so hard her teeth clacked, rattling her jaw, but she couldn't hold back any longer.

Curled up on her the bed she would never again share with her husband, holding the pan to her chest, Estingai wept.

She shook, the pit within her that Svemakuu's death had rent pulling at her, trying to consume her with a darkness blacker than a starless night. She'd thought it would take his death—him abandoning her—to hurt her this deeply. She'd been wrong.

Estingai's memory was foggy—a side effect of lightless orangenodes. Images and sensations slipped away as she tried to hold onto them, to remember what it had felt like to be happy. She moved Auroralight from her bluenodes to her orangenodes, clearing the fog, but it only made the memory more painful.

Will I ever feel that way again?

The hopeless thought only made her tears flow more freely, her sobs more violent.

By the time her tears subsided, eyes blurry, face damp from her torrent of tears, Estingai found herself spent. Empty. That dark pit had nearly consumed her.

She didn't know what to do, how to get out of this bed and face those beyond her lonely suite.

Yet as she wiped the tears from her eyes, as she sniffed and squeezed her eyes shut, something Svemakuu had said came back to her. It stayed when all the others slipped away.

"Even if we don't get everyone to agree, that isn't the end of things, and it doesn't mean Koruuksi had to put himself through weeks of hell for nothing. We'll find a way out of this life, and I won't let his and everyone else's pain be for nothing."

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Estingai drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

I can't let it be for nothing.

Something blossomed inside her. Something warm. Not the same warmth Svemakuu had been able to bring her, but something… strong.

Estingai opened her eyes, clutching the pan tight.

I need to make it worth it. To keep my husband alive in some way, even if only I know it.

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, Estingai pushed herself upright, then rose from her bed.

I’ve been here before.

She’d made the same decision back in Ghostmine when the Lightforged had been about to kill her. She’d survived in that moment, but hadn’t taken things any further. Because of that, she’d ended up here, weeping alone in her failure.

I have to help them.

She'd held herself back these past weeks, distracting herself with attempts at escape and menial tasks she couldn't screw up. The time for that was past. She couldn’t just pick herself up this time. She needed to move forward. To become someone that wouldn’t get knocked down so hard by moments like this.

Estingai set down the pan on top of Svemakuu's chest.

He didn’t abandon me. He left, but that wasn’t his choice. I won’t abandon his vision.

She made her bed, then folded her clothing and fished a replacement uniform out of her trunk. She almost took off the shirt, but hesitated with her fingers at the hem.

She could allow herself this. She needed his strength.

Keeping the shirt on, oversized as it was, Estingai dressed, then shrugged into her armored coat and tugged on her pants. Once she laced up her boots, she lifted her belt, studying it for a moment, then set it back down. She rifled through Svemakuu's chest, then took one of his spares and cinched it tight around her waist. She transferred her tools and weapons and supplies from one belt to the other, then stuck the small pan through the holster made especially to carry it.

Satisfied, Estingai put her things away, then gazed at Svemakuu's trunk. She ran her hand over his belongings one more time, then closed the trunk and straightened. She took a deep breath, then pushed through the curtain and headed out toward the command room. The warmth within her, the energy that kept her moving, didn't take away the pain, but kept her going despite it.

As she stepped out into the hall, she reached back and ran a hand over the pan's smooth handle.

Thank you.