Littia awoke feeling groggy and exhausted all the way down to the very core of her bones. Her eyes barely opened. Every fiber of her body seemed to ache. She knew the feeling of healing fatigue. She bore it often enough, but this time...this time she could hardly move. She wondered why she was even awake.

She began to remember what had happened. It had started with her maid uniform being ripped from her, and then being thrown onto his bed. She thought something had broken from just that. Without healing she would probably have a burn on her neck from how quickly and violently her clothes had been ripped from her.

The memory faded, the pain and agony of it simply, wonderfully slipping away. Her father's voice glided gently into her mind with a long forgotten memory. She didn't remember exactly what he said, but he had brought her soup, and her fever had cleared. It was a memory from when she was very young, but it was bright and warm.

Littia soaked in that memory, remembering her mother's smile, and the strength of her father's arms as he lifted her up, and helped feed her. Littia began crying all the same, but it wasn't as bad as it might have been. She wasn't sobbing or feeling defeated.

Her shadow writhed under the blankets. It was angry. She didn't know what, or why, or how it come to be, but it was there. It wrapped around her, shielding her violated parts with its tendrils, and secured her body. It ran when Daybreak came. She would have too, but it was always there when she awoke.

She pulled what light blankets there were for her over her head. In the dark of the covers her shadow writhed about her possessively, jealously, and so very gently. She let out gentle breaths and soaked in the cool refreshing tingle of her shadows touch. It was like sunlight in reverse. Like being in the shade, but more.

The shadow tendrils wrapped about her neck, covering where she had been hurt, and about her jaw and ears. She sheltered in its gentle whispers. She squeezed her hands against the tendrils that snaked up her arms and about her fingers. The shadow reassuringly squeezed back.

There were times when she wanted the shadow to take all of her. Where she wished the shadow would sink her into the dark warmth of sleep and keep her there as safe and far from the light of Torch Bearer King Lumino Daybreak.

Littia let out her tears, and felt the shadow wiping them away.

No one else came to her side. The person who had healed her would have known what happened to her, and who had done it, and there would be nothing they could do but ignore it. Her shadow tried, but Littia's hopelessness nearly overwhelmed her.

Until the door to her small room opened.

Her shadow retreated as it always did before the person could reach out with their senses or see it and she jumped, nearly toppling from the narrow bed.

There was a woman in the doorway. She was pretty, and with caring eyes untouched by real hardship or struggle. Though maybe she knew a little better now. She seemed strained, but carried it well. She had brown hair that was somewhat golden in the sunlight peeking through the windows.

Her face was a heart shape of soft curves. She wore the modest robes of a priestess of light, but she didn't carry herself like she was the light embodied. She carried herself like she was the first rays of the spring dawn, quiet and unassumingly bringing warmth and color to everything she touched.

Her smile was pained as she stepped into the room with a tray of food in hand. Littia knew the look though it was strange to see such softness paired with it in her eyes. She knew. She had been the one to heal Littia's wounds, set right her bones, and mend her torn and bruised flesh. It made her eyes all the harder to meet.

“Good morning. My name's Anatasia, but you can call me Ana. You've got pretty bad healing fatigue I bet. It will feel a little better once you eat and have a good deal to drink.” The priestess said.

Littia curled her blankets about her fists, holding them up to her chest. She was wearing a light linen tunic now over a shift, panties, and short trousers. Her clothes were a little rumpled with sleep, but they were comfortable. Strange, but comfortable enough.

She looked around her, at anything but the woman, as much as she could without lifting her head, and saw she was in a room inside a stone building. Birds called nearby somewhere outside the window beside her bed. The room had recently been cleaned with magic, she could sense it with one of her maid perception skills, called Neat and Tidy. She didn't recognize the architecture of the building.

The priestess smiled at her, and pulled up a stool near her bed. Her eyes were kind, and motherly. Littia didn't want to know what she was keeping from her under that kind gaze. She probably thought Littia just a whore, a servant to be discarded that she had ended with out of circumstance. The woman probably couldn't wait to get rid of her.

Ana looked out the window and smiled sadly.

“We've put you in one of the garden rooms.” She said, her voice and aura projecting kindness and security. She must have been Adept Rank or maybe higher. Maybe not higher, Littia decided, she was a little too young to have managed more than adept by now.

“Garden rooms?” Littia asked, unable to keep herself from doing so.

It was hard not to ask where one was when they had no idea, and the woman's aura was making good use of her charisma. It was a caring aura, but Littia didn't like it. It felt like it was loosening her tongue, and trying to make her tell everything.

Ana's response was slow, but she nodded still looking toward the window.

“The Parish gardens are out your window. The flowers have bloomed already or your room would be filled with their scents. I grew up here, and had a room just down the hall.” She told Littia.

Then she sighed and flicked out two legs from the bottom of the simple steel tray in her hands. The tray made a neat lap plate that Ana put into place over Littia's thighs. Ana smiled at her, and then folded her hands where she sat.

Littia didn't know where to look. Beside her was the wall, and on the other this woman sat in the stool, seeming content to watch her eat.

“Parish?” Littia asked.

The food looked good. Freshly served and still hot even. Littia admitted to herself that she wouldn't get anywhere ignoring the gnawing hunger in her belly. She lifted the little cloth covering the meal and had to swallow before she drooled over the plate.

Fresh fish, cooked in butter and herbs, potatoes, garden greens, and peppers! There were even three whole slices of ham for her, each of them hot and juicy looking as anything she had served Daybreak himself. She had expected porridge, or leftovers from dinner the night before. This was...unexpected…

“North and a little ways into the mountains east from the coast from Istan. Or what's left of the city anyway.” Ana replied.

Littia looked up at Ana in surprise. Ana's soft, but pained smile said a lot. Littia extended what senses she had for magic beyond the room, and felt something of a lingering touch of divinity. It wasn't the harsh burning light of Theadus, but gentle, caring sensations of rest and comfort she hadn't felt since she left home. She was suddenly sure that if she had awoken in this place when the Goddess of Healing was alive she would have had a good chance of meeting the Goddess herself.

The place, even this room, had a feeling to it like some of the halls in Lord Daybreak's mansion where Lord Theadus had walked. -And it suddenly made sense why this priestess felt different as well. She had been raised here. Raised as a daughter of the Goddess of Healing in one of her countless Parish orphanages.

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“Things got out of hand at camp. There wasn't fighting exactly, but you weren't the only one injured, and we needed a place to stay. The companies under Thomas's command are camped out around us, but they won't come in. It's silly, but they say there's something about the place that doesn't make them feel welcome. Istania wouldn't have barred them in or out either way. It was just the way she was..” The priestess said, turning to gaze out the window again.

Littia understood what it was like to try to imagine herself back home, before everything bad had happened, but for now she said nothing. She took up a fork and knife instead and slowly began eating, the urging of her stomach too much to ignore any longer.

“I'm sorry...I'm rambling. Please eat. Drink. I'll stay with you if you like or leave. I-- I wish I wasn't the most senior priestess we have here. I wish I knew what to say to make you feel comfortable, but I don't.” Ana said, her own eyes cast down now.

Littia continued to eat. Slowly. But she ate. The delicious food made her feel wonderfully alive. She was so hungry and it felt so good to sate that urge. Darkly she wondered if dominating and taking her did the same for Lord Daybreak. If he even felt satisfied with her to any extent, or if her body simply broke under his hands too easily.

She stabbed the fish with her fork hard enough to make the plate under it squeak, but then brought the fish to her mouth. She savored the taste and tried to settle her dark thoughts. They didn't go away, but she managed to push them out of her attention a little. She didn't want to interrupt this meal by remembering something so foul.

Right now she was alive. She was eating. It was wonderful. Something stirred in her reminding her of that. The taste of the food was suddenly clearer and more vibrant. The taste of the herbs, the way they interacted with the few small slices of onion, and how both combined in the butter was suddenly bright and colorful on her tongue. It very nearly made her cry to taste such wonderful things on her tongue.

“Is...is my Lord Daybreak here?” Littia asked.

Ana looked up at her sharply. Her face was a mix of confusion and revulsion. Her expression twisted, and she struggled to control it. Her reaction spoke of volumes of contempt for the Torch Bearer Lord, and it made Littia smile. She wasn't sure why, but it was nice.

“His retainers would have tried to keep me... how did you get me away priestess?” Littia asked, and took another bite of the lovely food.

She had lived a long while never expecting to really make it much longer. Lumino would be furious with her, and blame her for this too. She would probably die then. Or be so broken as to suffer damage healing couldn't fix.

So sometimes she got like this. When all she could do was enjoy what little she had, as much as she could in that moment. -And right now this food was positively the best thing she could have imagined. Last time it had been a little time hidden away when Lord Daybreak was gone. She had been able to read some books in the Lords library and it had been such a joy to simply be away from her own mind for a time.

She had forgotten to eat that day, but it had never really bothered her.

“Thomas took you out. The camp...it's not a place where....--Thomas's senses--” Ana floundered.

Littia looked up at the woman surprised. Her voice was filled with affection for the man whenever she mentioned his name, but the tone of her words told of what she had heard and couldn't say. Littia nodded.

“You heard me screaming.” She said simply.

Ana quivered. It was a violent shuddering non-motion, and appeared to be as close as she could come to expressing rage. When she recovered from that she reached out for Littia's hand before hesitating.

“I'm sorry. I should ask before I just take your hand. I've studied mental trauma and healing some and understand that touch can be difficult in certain cases.” Ana said, her voice reserved and polite.

Littia smiled at her, and slid her suddenly very tired fingers over to Ana's on the bed.

The other woman took her hand with a warm smile.

“You love him.” Littia found herself saying.

Ana didn't seem confused by Littia's simple statement. Instead she looked guilty, and so happy it just about drained any mirth from Littia's own soul. She held up her own smile though. Knowing love like that would never be something she could have. Not any more. Not for years now.

“Thomas is the hero, but he's ever been an artist as well. He sees the world as something beautiful and full of potential that we just have to bring to the surface. That doesn't mean he won't get angry and fulfill the righteous hero stereotype and save a maiden or two now and then.” Ana said with a little laugh.

“Has he saved you too, priestess?” Littia asked, meaning to tease her.

Ana smiled, but it had an impish pride set to it now.

“I saved him, I think. Not from anything too dangerous, but from getting too stuck in his own head and getting too frustrated to think.”

Littia lifted her eyebrows at her.

Ana immediately understood what she might have implied.

“Oh for light's sake I don't mean it like that!”

Littia let out a soft laugh.

Thomas turned his focus from the conversation in the room. His cheeks flushed a little, but it seemed Ana had it in hand. He cast his eyes over the hall, and his senses tingled once again. There was a lingering sense of madness here, a stain left over from the murder done here, and all the worse saturated with the lingering emotions. Thomas thought he had some image of what had happened to Ivan here.

It was just confusing. He had thought himself foolish at first when he came here and began sensing things that might have shed light before. But it had been too long. It didn't make sense. Impressions like this could have been drawn out by someone like Lyrica months, years, or decades after the events that had last taken place. Even if there was some overlap or someone had squatted in the place for some time she could have sorted out the impressions through meditation and documentation.

Thomas followed the hall and appeared behind the main chambers. Unlike with Theadus's chapels that were adorned in gold and his iconography what was left of the Parish was more like a town hall or forum. There were bookshelves to either side of what should have been the main altar. There was one standing lectern, and that was made of simple wood like the pews and tables.

Though this was a country parish set upon its own plot of land and surrounded by farms, the people for miles around had come here weekly to pray, to be healed, and to gather as a community in the Goddess's name. Yet everything was workman-like, rugged, and durable. The Parish itself was a beautiful building, but its doors, halls, lofts, and walls were all a carefully disguised fortress.

This place had been built as a light bastion. A station of healing and security. There were plenty of rooms, and the cellar was filled with long lasting magically sealed provisions even after being slightly raided by the militia of light for resources. Many of the large casks of sealed goods were too heavy to move without Laborer strength and endurance to handle their moving. There was even a small armory, but its largest stock was arrows, bolts, bows, crossbows and spears. Those were militia weapons and not the greater weapons of magical might Thomas might have tucked away.

He had searched for a hidden place within the building where such a thing might be. As things had been hidden away in the main temple in the city of Istan, but found nothing significant or anything he had not expected to be there. Except for what he felt.

The place clung to some image of Istania still, and from his understanding that should have been long gone. Lyrica had explained the nature of magic to him once, going over how the world often fought to drown the magic away, to use and expend all of it. It grew plants that soaked in the magic to grow, each rise and fall of the sun dragged away vast amounts of energy, and even the moon had a role to play in washing away the touch of magic from the world.

People brought magic into the world from within. Gods invested their magic into the people, and enabled them to do more and more with their own strength. And the world ate it away like rain into the soil.

So why had this place still been soaked in impressions and divinity when he first stepped inside? Why did it linger now? He had no answer for these questions, but he did look at a stain near the first steps of the main altar.

Ana had used some minor magical rituals to clean the Parish, restored it, and removed the bloody mess of murder and battle from its walls and rooms, but there were a few stains that could not be removed. The first, and the largest was nearest Thomas now, at the foot of the three stairs leading to the head of the cathedral. The second was off to his left in front of the pews, the third, and fourth behind him near the door to the hall.

He rubbed his eyes with his hands. He had incredible endurance as the Hero, both mental and physical, but even though his charisma seemed to display his emotions just fine it did nothing to cease the troubling ache in his mind. This all seemed too much.

As he rubbed his eyes his mind returned again to Ivan, standing there in the dark, and surrounded by an angry mob of people. He had been soaked in the blood of a child, rudimentary healing magic lingering about him telling a story to Thomas as surely as he had seen every detail, and he had looked battered to hell like he had just been fighting besides. He must have been exhausted. But standing there Thomas was sure he was gazing at a broken man.

The gentle and caring champion of Istania still lived, or at least his body still moved, but what had been Ivan was nearly gone now. Thomas remembered the sober boy, almost cocky in his patient confidence, but that alone wasn't Ivan. The image just wasn't complete without his smiling squires by his side, his constant companion Tanya, with her brilliant sharp gaze, and ready smile at his side.

Ivan had called the Goddess mother. Ivan had served the people of this region without hesitation. Ivan had been a Hero to them, and to the children who had gone from having no family of their own to belonging to this place. Thomas could almost see how the children must have looked up to Ivan. From the well used status of the library books they studied like him too.

Thomas bowed his head as something deep within him wanted to agree with Ivan. It had grown there, getting more and more angry, as Thomas had searched the building. He had gone into rooms filled with books and toys, and the trappings of innocent children. Children who were now buried in the Parish gardens, and no doubt laid to rest by Ivan’s hands.

His senses ran with the almost ghostly madness that filled this room still.

Magic too wild, and too potent and destructive to have come from Ivan, but so undeniably having been sourced from Ivan had flooded this room. It was a lingering tale Thomas had felt before, and confirmed a few times for himself in secret.

The rumors of the maddened priests, clerics, alchemists, and others who had carried Istania's sparks had likely all turned out like this. Ivan's wasn't so bad, but Thomas had made another trip to Istan with it being so close and double checked.

The desolate town had practically only one thing he could sense to it. And it was like a dying scream of rage in about three dozen voices. It repelled him, so vested was he in Theadus's power, and it was no wonder the forces of Light had retreated from the city after claiming what they could for evidence. Even then a little sneaking about and plying Volkstead in certain places had revealed that no one had found the deadly missing book that now seemed to be the lynch pin of Theadus's claims.

The book contained within Montrello had been bad enough he supposed, but it was in the end a minor artifact, and something Theadus's own scholars considered safe enough for expert members to handle.

Thomas's gaze snapped up into the rafters. He blinked, but it was just a spider. Curious that it would be white. It made the little thing stick out so badly in any amount of light. It looked as though it had plenty of things caught in its net however.

Rapid footsteps coming toward the parish doors from outside near the gates drew his ear then. He started for the door.

The soldier came inside in a panic.

“Caddus is gone. We think something took him in the night!”