Anastacia stared at the crown in her hands with visible disgust. Signifying dominion over necromancers and their rotting carcass of an empire, it was the embodiment of everything she had wanted to avoid at all cost for as long as she could remember – but whether she liked it or not, weapons that worked against the sect were few and far between, and none of the others were likely to match the crown in power. By decrees as old as necromancy itself, the bearer of the crown had authority over their subjects, no matter how corrupted or distanced from their original forms they were. From the brightest red to the deepest violet, all were forced to heed their judgement with awe, fear and respect. Though it filled Anastacia with dread, she couldn’t deny that it also called out to her, begging to be worn.
She glanced at her friends behind her, whom she had agreed to catch up with once Tekhelet was dealt with, hoping to receive some kind of reassurance that using the crown was the right thing to do. Of course, none of them would even think about encouraging it after they had seen what it did to Iris, but they also understood the lack of options they had at the time, and so chose to remain silent.
“This better work.” Anastacia said and chuckled nervously while wiping off some of the dirt that had gotten on the crown while it was on the ground – very obviously just delaying the inevitable.
With nothing else left to do, she turned around to give one more comforting smile to her understandably nervous friends, and quickly seated the crown on her head to get it over with. The circlet of ivory fit on her head perfectly, and once in place, felt like it wasn’t even there. Anastacia didn’t know exactly what to expect, but felt like some sort of a surge in power or ancient knowledge from the original white ones would have been appropriate – instead she received nothing. She felt no different, her scope of powers had not been altered, there were no voices in her head or unseen forces affecting her body. Confused, she picked up the crown and placed it back down on her head to make sure it was on properly, but the results were no different. Turning it around didn’t change anything, nor did putting it on upside down.
“What… Is this thing working?” She asked and repeatedly took it off and put it back on.
What she hadn’t noticed was the surge in the green energy swirling within Xamiliere’s body. The moment the crown was first placed on the head of its rightful owner, each and every being ancient enough to remember the times of Ivory and Alabaster felt a long-gone warmth within their aged husks, as something from their days rekindled itself for a moment. The spriggans in their grove reveled for the rise of their mortal brethren, the great minds buried deep within machine fortresses hummed in pleasure as the power once used to eradicate their creators had resurfaced, gods felt a spark of unease growing within them, the last few of the ancient dragons lifted their heads from their hoards in anticipation – and a lone young muse laughed manically somewhere nearby. Most importantly, by the edge of nothingness, three members of the violet sect – as well as their currently earthbound peer, shuddered as a blade moved closer to their throats.
“Immeasurable in weight when carried by the unworthy, but atop the right head, a crown adds little more than a bit of glimmer.” Tekhelet’s defeated words echoed from some distance down the road. Once again faced with Anastacia instead of beings of lesser interest, the mockery had drained from her tone in a blink of an eye.
Anastacia on the other hand, had plenty of reason to be smug about her rescue from not nonexistence. She definitely hadn’t expected Iris of all people to come for her, but she had been very insistent about someone figuring out her absence for the whole time she had spent with Tekhelet.
“I told you this would happen, and on a related note, I don’t see your rescue anywhere.” She snarkily pointed out and started to approach the sect member, this time without fear. Crowned, she could now properly oppose the sect, and based on their time together, she still doubted that Tekhelet even planned to attack her now – no, she knew it would only make things worse for her.
“The others are just as dutybound as I, no doubt they are otherwise occupied, Lady Brume.” Tekhelet sighed, not even attempting to escape deeper into the formation of metal shards that still remained after Iris and Sylvia had done a number on them. “The bleakness of this moment does not escape me, but I can not help but to feel a degree of pride for guiding you to this outcome. Should I perish here or not, there is now a white one with the knowledge of our peril. Should our mission fail, you still know the inescapable fate to be true… With each passing year, you will witness the world fade. One less flower blooming in a meadow, one less bird in flocks migrating to the south… You will come to the conclusion we have, and my final remaining wish is that you do not destroy our work should the unlikely come to pass and our sect fails – you will need it sooner or later.”
Anastacia didn’t respond. She couldn’t see herself making the cold-hearted decision the sect had, nor did she think it was her to make – but denying that there was any basis on what Tekhelet was saying turned out more difficult than she had anticipated. It was better to not get caught on a lie when it would do nothing but prove her words had made a mark.
“Well then – Lady Brume the Contumacious, master of necromancers. Have you orders for the humblest of your unwilling subjects?” Tekhelet inquired as Anastacia passed her closest reflection, but receiving no immediate answer, began following her down the road.
They walked into the area scorched by Sylvia in complete silence, as further threats in either direction were pointless. Getting off the road was quite a bit easier after the snow was gone, and Anastacia could stroll into the formation without having to trudge in the knee-deep mess of snow, corrupted blood, bits of corroded weapons, burnt pieces of bone and upturned soil.
Finally, Tekhelet broke the silence. “An unfortunate thought passes through my mind at this moment, but do not take these as pleas. Should the world have spun a degree off, landing the present into an adjacent one instead of the cruel one the fates have chosen: I fathom we would have been friends, wouldn’t we, Anastacia?”
“Is that so?” Anastacia chuckled.
“I recognize the similarities in our souls, as do you, I wager. In a world where you donned the crown more willingly, and I was not burdened with my knowledge and convictions, I would have gladly followed in your footsteps.” The sect member lamented, almost sounding happy for a moment as the imaginary situation distracted her. “The knowledge we could have uncovered together would have shaped the world into its next age, without a doubt…”
Even Anastacia had to admit that for someone who had literally written her out of existence, she was struggling to find a reason to loathe Tekhelet the same way she had loathed Eminence. Even now, she was only determined to rid the world of her because there were no other options. Letting Tekhelet escape would simply delay the inevitable. Part of her still wanted to stop to compare their notes on simulacra and other topics, but it was as the sect member herself had said: not in this world.
“Interesting…” She eventually gave a halfhearted answer and stopped in front of one of the stray shards of metal that didn’t fit in either of the ring patterns. She could see her own reflection on its smooth surface, now completed with the crown on her head. Behind her was the wraith-like form of Tekhelet, who graciously bowed to the new master of necromancers as their eyes met.
Anastacia closed her eyes and lifted up her arm to lazily draw a circle in the air with her finger. “Perish.” She whispered as the countless pieces of bone littering the area and the ground below shot off at the metal shards, impacting on them hard enough to shatter any that were left, save the one in front of her. The resulting bits and pieces of metal were all clawed into the ground by countless skeletal limbs of the seemingly inexhaustible grave surrounding the city. She wasn’t sure if this would trap Tekhelet there or kill off any reflections, but deep in the soil, there was no light to reflect her image, and the shards would at the very least be harmless.
This seemed to cause the one remaining reflection some amount of discomfort, as she gasped in pain for a moment. “Glorious… as expected.” The sect member uttered between gasps and coughing. Still, even as her last resort she did not attack even to defend herself – not that it would have made a difference.
The only things left standing in the field now were Anastacia, the single shard of metal in front of her, as well as the metal staff floating in the middle of the formation – which now caught the attention of the necromancer.
“If I destroy that, will you die?” She asked and pointed at the ominous artifact.
“I do not quite know myself. It was the only reflective item I was able to claw out of the nothingness, and for a time, I only existed as a figment on its sheen. It still remains as the core of my being, and I go where it goes.” Tekhelet explained, still struggling to recover from the impact of having all other reflections of her wiped out in an instant. “I presume it is time to find out then? It is a shame that the answer will not be recorded in my library in the end…”
“I’ll leave a note somewhere when I get around there.” Anastacia snarked as a sharp piece of a broken femur from some war beast lined itself towards the staff over her head.
“Much appreciated.” Tekhelet responded with what sounded like genuine gratefulness.
The necromancer closed one of her eyes and pointed her finger at the staff, taking her time with the aiming. Suddenly, a familiar feeling of something being off took her over and she didn’t even have time to look up to find out its cause before a massive glass-like shard of the morning sky tumbled down and embedded itself into the ground mere meters away from her, all without so much as a muted thump. Similar Pieces of the sky rained all over the immediate area as a violet wound appeared across the sky directly above her. Recognizing this as the way the sect traversed into the mortal plane, it was obvious to Anastacia that this was the other members realizing Tekhelet’s absence.
“Oh, no you don’t!” She exclaimed and flicked her hand towards the staff to send the piece of bone above her at it and destroy it before whatever was coming got in the way.
The bone shot off with speed and force no lesser than the spears she preferred to use, but as it approached the staff, it suddenly began slowing down inexplicably. It was still well under Anastacia’s control and she couldn’t even feel anything resisting it, but yet it kept slowing down more and more as it closed in on the staff. A couple of meters before reaching the staff, it finally stopped moving all together. As far as the necromancer could tell, it was still dutifully moving onwards as the will she had given to it dictated, but the reality didn’t seem to match that. Not only that, any snowflakes that happened to fall around the immediate vicinity of the staff seemed to be similarly stuck, even the air itself was somehow affected as gentle gusts of wind caused a shimmering effect in the bright orange light barely shining over the horizon as the sun began to rise. Anastacia quickly turned to look at the staff through its reflection on the last shard of metal, just in case whatever was going on was visible there, but that didn’t appear to be the case either. All she could see was the scenery as it looked like normally, with the addition of Tekhelet looming beside her.
Just as she turned back, the cause of the oddity had revealed themselves. Wearing the most ludicrously opulent dress Anastacia had ever seen, complete with several layers of frills, small platinum chains with a precious gem or the emblem of the violet sect dangling from each one. Colorful silks and lace skillfully attached to the dress’ violet fabric that seemed more like some kind of an ethereal veil than a physical material. Though it was certainly a sight, it was hard even for the necromancer of questionable taste to call it anything more positive than a spectacle. Coupled with a matching set of silk gloves as well as a parasol, the entire outfit was wholly unfit for anything besides some elegant upper society ball where movement was optional. The only visible piece of its wearer was the emotionless face of what seemed like literal marble and not anything that could be called skin – complete with a crack that ran across their face. A violet veil made from the same strange material as the dress itself covered their head and reached all the way down to the snow behind them. The person stood between Anastacia’s projectile and the staff, seemingly unbothered by it and simply stared at the necromancer – hastily opening a lace fan to cover the lower part of their face after realizing they had become visible.
Anastacia was definitely stunned by the very unexpected sight, but there was something else going on as well, it felt as if everything should have stayed completely still. She should have at the very least asked who the person was, if not outright attacked them because of their obvious involvement with the sect, but it felt wrong to break the silence.
Suddenly, the snowflakes stuck in the air began floating back up, and the shard of bone slowly built speed – this time towards Anastacia instead, slowly but unmistakably. For Anastacia, the will given to the projectile appeared still clear and uncontested, it was hurtling towards its original target at an incredible speed and power – but somehow, it wasn’t. A simple step to the side would have sufficed to avoid its path, but that was something her body was unwilling to comply with as long as her eyes were locked with the sect member’s almost gem-like violet eyes that lacked pupils entirely.
Just as the shard of bone released itself from whatever force had slowed it down, Anastacia’s balance become disturbed by what felt an awful lot like a push and she toppled over to the side – with the bone shard flying past her so quickly and close that the air current it caused felt like a blade being ran across her cheek.
“Byzantium! The time is not right for this clash, let us use her stupor to escape!” Tekhelet exclaimed while Anastacia shook off the residual effects of whatever had kept her from moving.
When Anastacia pushed herself up from ground, prepared to annihilate whatever had been standing before her with bone, fire and ice, but all she found was a field empty of opponents. The staff and the one remaining metal shard were gone, as were Tekhelet and the sect member apparently called Byzantium. Knowing better than to trust first appearances when it came to the sect, she stayed wary as she looked around, but the sky seemed to have repaired itself as well, so it really started to look like their incursion was over. The morning sun was coming up as usual, the frigid breeze felt fresh despite the overwhelming smell of cinders and burnt bone, and the brief silence was restful rather than tense.
“I need coffee…” The necromancer sighed and began to slowly make her way back to the road, she could already tell by the small glimmers of their lanterns that the number of guards posted atop the wall had multiplied and a group of them were waiting by the gate – the situation had clearly become an ordeal even after the immediate threat was gone.
Series of rhythmical thunks began catching up to her as the spider-like simulacra and Leggy rushed across the field after deeming it safe. “Necromancer! Necromancer!” The speaking one of the two screeched as it hurtled across the snow excitedly.
Anastacia immediately recognized the tone of the vocal module she had heard in the depths of the machine fortress and had feared would never hear again, as she had been forced to leave the one of Amora in a broken-down state. She turned around on her heels and sprinted at the simulacrum, smacking onto its stone armor at an unadvisable speed. “They fixed you?!” She squealed in disbelief.
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“The body became inoperable, but the core never faded. The one of Amora waited in the darkness for the necromancer to return. In time, the corruption faded, only darkness remained… Then, with gentle hands and dulcet tones, the necromancer brought senses to the sensors.” The one of Amora recalled how the approximations of Anastacia, now living within the fortress through long lost Aureun technology, had repaired their body after Eminence’s departure. “But there are others who have sought the necromancer as of late, others the necromancer should see to, for the one of Amora shall wait a moment more.” They pointed out and gestured towards Leggy with one of their many feet.
Patiently waiting for her turn, Leggy stood back until the very split-second Anastacia let go of the other simulacra and then immediately grasped the necromancer into a tight embrace, wrapping both her arms and the metallic cloak around her. A gentle whirr of the components inside the simulacrum did quite a lot for Anastacia to finally settle down and fully let her guard down. Only after King, Xamiliere and Emilia reached them, was she willing to let Anastacia go.
King, considerably less emotive than Leggy, simply placed his hand on the necromancer’s head while Anastacia grabbed onto him, both to hug him and absorb some of the warmth he generated. She also checked on the still unconscious Iris to make sure she was at least physically fine.
Xamiliere awkwardly kicked the loose lumps of soil on the road and stared at the ground while waiting for her turn, but when the necromancer sought her out, the energy within her surged once more. The dried branches in her hair quickly grew new leaves and the slumbering flora under the snow in the area suddenly bloomed despite the season – everywhere except in the charred area entirely cauterized from all life by Sylvia’s presence. Both of them struggled to find words to say to one another, and without a word said, they agreed to wait until a less hectic moment to speak freely. The priestess was very clearly distracted by her own thoughts for reasons obvious even to Anastacia, but gave a subtle yet genuine smile as she welcomed the necromancer back to existence with a hug.
To get out of the burnt smell and freezing temperature, and to find Iris a better spot to lay on than King’s shoulder, they agreed to head back to Valor and the inn. Though as they got back onto the road and started heading for the gates, Anastacia noticed that Emilia had stayed behind, still standing by the edge of the scorched ground. Telling the others to keep going and that she’d catch up to them as soon as she had gathered the scattered bits of Iris’ wings, the necromancer headed back to see if her friend needed something from her. On her way, she absentmindedly collected the parts of wings into a single ball that floated over her palm, easily distinguishing them from all the other material laying around by their greatly refined state.
“Need a moment?” Anastacia asked and stopped next to Emilia.
“I think I need a lot more than that, but a moment would be nice.” The priestess said and stared at the ornate mace in her hand, both a weapon and her tool of trade for divine works. “She’s always been a bit of a mystery, even to me, but this is too far, don’t you think? Who knows what would have happened if Iris hadn’t managed to stop her…”
“I wasn’t here for most of it, but sure seems like it.” The necromancer nodded. She herself was of two minds regarding the deity: on one hand, she had been revived by her, but she couldn’t help but to agree that Sylvia was suspicious in many ways.
Emilia absentmindedly weighed the all too familiar heft of her weapon. “She’s still in my head, spouting all sorts of things. I had suspected for a long time, but now I know some of it has to be lies.”
“Is there such a thing as vacation in your line of work? Maybe you two just need a break to, I don’t know… reevaluate things?” Suggested Anastacia.
“There is now.” Emilia sighed, took a step back and flung her mace into the deep snowbank in the middle of the field. “You go on ahead. I’d rather stay here for a bit longer. Tell Rosie that I’m fine and will be back before lunch.”
“Sure.” Anastacia nodded. “If you need anything, just say the word and I’ll drop everything else. There’s a surprising number of very weird strings I can pull these days.”
“Thanks, Anna, I’ll keep that in mind.” Emilia faked a faint smile. “It’s good to have you back.”
Anastacia quickly caught up with her friends before they reached the gate, and took the lead when they were obviously stopped by a team of six guards donning very similar armor to the one worn by their patrolling colleagues, but with some additional protection. They insisted that everyone involved should accompany them to the guild offices, but were quickly told that it wasn’t going to happen. Anastacia offered them two options: either she would personally visit the offices on the next day, or they could send a guild official to record whatever answers they needed later that day – once she had had her coffee. As often was the case, the guards acted as the reasonable counterbalance to the officials’ absolute demands, and a deal was brokered that the necromancer’s suggestions would be brought to the officials while they went ahead and got Iris into a warmer place. This was helped by the fact that one of the guards was the fortunate sentry Iris had spared from paperwork, and that the one of Amora agreed to head off with them to give the officials a report they had compiled already. So, without a larger incident, a couple of the guards headed off to check the site of the battle while the others followed the one of Amora to the guild offices. Their entrance to the inn went largely unnoticed by the patrons enjoying their breakfasts, most of whom had no idea Anastacia had first disappeared and then reappeared in the past couple of days, but were cheerily conversing about whatever was supposedly happening outside of the wall. Seeing one of the inn’s inhabitants carry another, passed out resident in also wasn’t too uncommon in the mornings, and caused no stir.
As soon as they entered the kitchen, Anastacia was locked into the crushing embrace of Rosie, and wasn’t let go even when the innkeeper saw the spriggan warily stepping in. Though she decided to not say anything about it at the time. Seeing everyone who returned, a sudden cold feeling clutched the innkeeper’s heart. “Where’s Emilia?!” She asked worriedly.
“She’s still out there, has some thinking to do. Said she’ll-“ Was all the necromancer could say before she was put back down and Rosie rushed through the establishment and into the freezing morning without so much as taking a coat along or leaving her apron behind.
“Fair enough…” Anastacia shrugged and straightened her outfit.
Gilbert placed his large hand on the necromancer’s head and ruffled her hair. “Welcome back.” He said warmly, clearly much more relieved than he was letting on.
Fixing her hair, Anastacia realized that she was still wearing the crown and had forgotten about it entirely. She took it off and placed it on a counter, where she would later in the day find it after she had forgotten about it again.
With Yulia now the only one keeping the kitchen running, she was far too busy to do anything besides shove people around when they got in her way and give a quick hug to the necromancer while pouring her a coffee Anastacia didn’t even have to order. Holly must have been exhausted by her work, as she was huddled on a pile of empty potato sacks in the corner, happily snoring away with a half-eaten piece of bread in her hand.
Noir and Vinca were busy worriedly flipping through several little black books their satchels seemed to have an endless supply of, but the crow lifted his gaze when Anastacia noticed him. “Ah, it does indeed appear our recovery mission was successful.” Noir said and pointed out the necromancer to his colleague.
Vinca looked up from his notes as well, and was more interested in the unconscious one on King’s shoulder, though not enough to put down his book. “Looks like our job here is done.” He stated and started packing away everything they had used for the rewriting process.
Without further celebrations, the two scribes made quick work of the slight mess they caused, and in mere moments, were prepared to depart wherever and whenever their extremely busy schedule would take them next, though there was still one matter to deal with. Vinca handed his satchel over to Noir and prepared to carefully pick up Holly, but was stopped by Gilbert grabbing his shoulder.
“What might you be up to?” The old adventurer asked, fully able to predict the answer.
“We’re taking Lady Saga back to the Archives, she’s much more needed there than here.” Vinca stated the obvious.
Gilbert effortlessly dragged the scribe away from the owlfolk. “And when your Lady Saga decides to go, I’m certain she’ll be able to do so. Until then, Holly stays here.” He stated sternly.
“But-“ Vinca tried to protest, but was silenced by Noir’s interjection.
“That is certainly true! Perhaps it is just better for us to go, there is a matter we must attend to.” The crow said hastily and started ushering his fellow scribe out of the kitchen.
“The book stays too.” Gilbert added, causing both of the scribes sigh audibly and Noir to place Holly’s book back onto the table it had been on before their rushed cleanup.
“You two are just leaving? No celebrations, or even hints to what we should be doing now? I assume my return was mostly your idea.” Anastacia asked, finding their sudden hurry suspicious.
“Yup.” The scribes answered in unison and walked out of the kitchen, disappearing outside without so much as a farewell.
Finally, there was a moment for the entire room to collectively let out a sigh of relief after an excruciatingly long night and morning. King placed Iris besides Holly on the pile of sacks, though as soon as Anastacia let go of the parts of her wings, they reformed into their original shape around their owner, suggesting that she was about to wake up soon enough. While waiting for that to happen Anastacia, Gilbert, Xamiliere, King and Leggy sat around a table to share what they had learned about the sect and the events of the past few days, including the alarmingly high number of adventurers that had yet to return from their quests that had begun to worry Gilbert, Sylvia’s suspicious acts, and Anastacia’s failure to kill Tekhelet in the end. It was more than a bit concerning that the sect now knew where Anastacia lived, but Gilbert figured it was unlikely that they would attempt to get at her in the place where she had the most support available, and based on how long it had taken for them to find Valor, he figured they couldn’t actually track her to know she’s for sure in the city. It was also possible that the sect would do everything they could to avoid the white one that was now able to directly harm them – though it was worth noting that the member Tekhelet had identified as Byzantium had absolutely no qualms attempting to have a go at her. However, the thing that bothered Anastacia the most was that they would have likely succeeded then and there if it wasn’t for the nudge she could have sworn she felt. Aside from the invisible hand of fate itself, the list of possible culprits had precisely one name: Tekhelet. Why a member of the sect would interfere with another in such a way was beyond her though.
A sudden surge in necromantic power alerted Anastacia to Iris finally waking up, which she did in a somewhat odd manner. The skeletal wings propped up the barely conscious body, holding the inquisitor barely off the ground until she got her bearings and could stand on her own. The utter confusion was visible in her eyes as her gaze darted around the room. Her last memories were of Sylvia encouraging her and handling the crown in an attempt to recover the white one by the name of Brume, which she managed to connect with Anastacia fairly quickly, now that she existed again. The seemingly leisurely morning coffee the group were having suggested that the danger had subsided, and that the plan had worked, so the inquisitor could allow herself to wind down – though not too much, as something about Anastacia felt distinctly different. Iris had only just gotten somewhat used to the raw power she emanated at all times before going missing, but now something had changed. She was no longer just an unrivaled oppressive presence, but a radiant and regal beacon of might that uplifted the necromancers around her rather than crushed the competition. Without even realizing it, the inquisitor kneeled before the white necromancer purely out of instinct.
“What are you doing?” Anastacia asked and took a sip of coffee.
Iris couldn’t do anything but stare at the floor. “I… kneeling... I think?” She answered, unsure of the reasons herself.
“Leave that stuff to your empress – or if I ask to ride on your shoulders.” Anastacia scoffed at the uptight gesture. “I guess we could have a go after we’re done with breakfast.”
“You don’t have to humor her.” Gilbert pointed out when she saw Iris actually consider it.
Iris got herself a cup of coffee she had also gotten used to as her brief stint as the city’s necromancer, and joined the others in their discussion on what to do. She was brought up to date with what had happened while she had been out cold. The inquisitor was happy that things had turned out so well in the end, but couldn’t help but to be a bit disappointed that the white one she had hoped would help the situation in Mournvalley, turned out to be the one necromancer who hated the whole place from the bottom of her heart. Her stay in Valor was still a success because of the remedied relations between the guild and Mournvalley, and of course her new pair of wings that were beyond anything she could have ever hoped to get her hands on in terms of quality. The sect now also faced one more threat in the mortal realm, perhaps the largest one they had yet. Not to mention the fact that there still existed another white one – perhaps someone more willing to help Mournvalley.
“Say, Anastacia, since your name has technically always been Brume even as The Anchor, and we’re not aware of anyone else who is named according to the Alabaster Index… doesn’t that mean we can work out the name of the other white one?” Iris suddenly pointed out after falling out of the conversation for a while.
Anastacia frowned and pondered the question for a while. “Yeah, the names in the index are designated when you are being prepared to start your reign, not at birth. The other white one would get the companion name to mine in the index.” She tried to recall how the extremely and pointlessly complicated naming scheme of the white ones worked.
The index was supposedly created by Alabaster himself, a fact often disputed by scholars but thought true by the nobility, and had been used to name noteworthy necromancers, such as previous anchors for thousands of years. The exact name picked from the index was decided through a system so convoluted that it was its own tome and required a whole team of librarians to unravel, but the index itself was a simple list of a few dozen names, all of which were paired with a companion name. In the rare cases where the companion names were used, they were usually assigned to the spouses of the initial white one and because of that thought of as more of a title than a name.
“That would make their name Phosphora, I think.” Anastacia finally remembered. “You’re thinking of looking for them?”
“I’d love to.” Iris sighed. “I have no time for such chases. In fact, I should already be on the road back home. I promised Sapphire I’d be back by tomorrow, and even now I’m cutting it a bit closer than I’d like to when it comes to the possible unraveling of our rule over the nation. When I get there, I’ll be occupied trying to keep the boat afloat while the others do their jobs.”
“What?! I was hoping we could have done some stuff together before you leave…” Anastacia said disappointedly.
The inquisitor smiled and reached over to put her hand on Anastacia’s. “Maybe some other time, when the world is free of the sect. I’d be more than happy to visit this place again.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Smirked Anastacia.
And so, Iris quickly ate her final meal in the city of adventurers for now, and despite Gilbert’s concerns over her traveling so soon after being knocked out by the crown, she prepared to leave. She had come in with very little and had to borrow a worn-out backpack from Anastacia to be able to carry all the clothing and various other things she had been gifted during her stay. The room she had stayed in was also left for Yulia to clean, as trying to get the candle wax off the floorboards was going to take more time than Iris had. Soon enough it was time for goodbyes, and after methodically going through everyone in the inn she knew, only Anastacia was left quietly following in Iris’ footprints.
On her way out of the inn, Iris stopped to address the other necromancer. “You don’t need to show me out. It’s cold out there and I’ll pop by the blacksmith’s anyway – and see if I can find Miss Emilia and Rosie on the way as well.”
“Okay…” Anastacia muttered dejectedly and fiddled with something in her pocket.
“It’s been… a lot of things, hasn’t it?” The inquisitor laughed. “There’s more I want to say to you than I possibly can, so I’ll just thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
Anastacia didn’t respond, instead she only avoided eye contact and kept nervously taking something out of her pocket and sliding it back in repeatedly.
“Is something wrong? I was serious about doing everything I can to come visit again.” Iris said, figuring that her friend was simply disappointed by the abrupt departure.
Anastacia suddenly wrapped her arms around the inquisitor and hugged her tightly. Though surprised, Iris quickly responded in kind by wrapping her wings around both of them until Anastacia was ready to let go.
Trying her best to recover her composure and pretending like she wasn’t sniffling the entire time; Anastacia finally pulled the small item out of her pocket and dropped it into Iris’ hands. The inquisitor inspected what turned out to be one of the small white crystals Anastacia had used to leave behind a message, or at least one like them.
“What’s this?” Iris asked, thinking the gift a bit odd, but not unwelcome in the slightest.
“It’s a sign of gratitude, I do like existing after all, and no one put themselves in more danger to get me back than you did.” Anastacia explained and changed her tone as much as she could to seem even a bit more formal. “Iris, despite serving the hive of shit we both came from, you are a friend to me above all else. So… as revolting as it is to my whole being, you – and by extension Mournvalley, get one.”
“Get one?” Repeated Iris, not quite understanding the gesture.
Clearly pained by what she was saying, Anastacia continued. “That crystal has a message I’ve recorded on it and can check for myself to make sure it’s this specific one… Inquisitorial Saint Iris, get this crystal back to me at any point in time, through any means you can, and Brume will answer your summon. So use it wisely.”
Iris’ wings almost fell off her back out of shock. Not once had she even dared to hope Anastacia would have anything to do with Mournvalley ever again, but apparently that was not quite the case. Suddenly things were looking a lot better for the inquisition.