The echoes of footsteps clattered against the smooth stone walls as the party descended the spiral stairs to the restricted chamber in the temple of Illephrre. After gathering their supplies, the group left the med bay —not before giving a mental command to the Faceless to relocate the mummified corpse of the First Keeper to another room. He decided they’d need to take advantage of the protection the ancient magic wards offered; Ethel had told him that the Speaker wouldn’t be able to ‘listen in’ while in the chamber, and his companions would be safer there. He and Ainsle walked several paces behind Ann and June as they spoke with hushed voices.

“Did you find that old hag?” his mentor asked; the clinking of her basilisk armor mostly muffled the question from the pair of women in front of them.

“Yeah,” Ben said as he reached into Kieran’s satchel and opened the flap to reveal Deidre’s journal. “She gave me this. And …nudged me toward my last concept.”

Ainsle didn’t respond immediately as she glanced at the leather-bound journal. Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. “Where is she now?”

“She’s dead, or at least I think so,” Ben paused as the group arrived outside the chamber. He turned to Ann and June. “Get some sleep if you can. We’ll be right back.”

Ann nodded and began to unpack their bedrolls. June silently stared at the ceiling, turning on her heel to inspect the wide ring of runes etched in the dark stone. After he was satisfied that the pair were occupied, Ben tilted his head toward the spiral stairway, and Ainsle followed him as he backtracked a few paces up the winding steps out of earshot of his Keeper.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Ainsle whispered. “I never heard of someone ‘nudging’ a concept into someone. I’m thinking that old prune was more than what she seemed?”

“Yeah, so-”

Ben recounted his experiences with Etheldreda, the prophecy, and her being the First Keeper. He shared his thoughts on Ann’s feelings toward the Speaker and the nature of his new concept, which elicited a hum from the old Berserker.

“-Ann said she was a powerful Aura user, and that was when she hid the fact that she was the Champion of Ruin.”

“And the hag told you that steel has no effect on her?” Ainsle asked as she stood, arms folded, leaning against the stone wall.

He shrugged. “I think she meant that we won’t undo whatever she did to Ann if we just cut her up. I get the idea that I’m supposed to fight with my wits.”

The Berserker mocked a groan. “Then we’re well and truly fucked.”

“Will,” Ben deadpanned. “A contest of will is what she said.”

Ainsle waved a dismissive hand. “What else?”

“That’s it,” he said, remaining silent for a beat. “What happened to Jor?”

His mentor nodded wordlessly to herself before resting a hand on the short sword on her hip. “Recognise this?”

Ben frowned and couldn’t recall where he had seen the plain weapon before. He assumed it must have belonged to Jor and realized that he hadn’t seen the Archer during their engagement with the Matron of the Hand. He shook his head, and Ainsle continued.

“Had a bit of a chat with the princess, you know, while we were bunk buddies.” She paused and met his gaze. “Ol’ Ain isn’t one to kiss and tell, so I want you to hear her out before you do anything.”

His shoulders stiffened, and he regarded his mentor with eyes drawn into a line. “What are you trying to say?”

Ainsle raised a brow. “I ain’t trying to say shit; I said what I said. Listen or don’t,” she shrugged. “But take it from someone who has as many regrets as notches on her belt —there’s more than one side to a story.”

Ben’s roiling thoughts calmed. He wasn’t certain if it was due to the concept of Mastery or if it was due to the request coming from his mentor, but he found himself considering the idea of listening to what the raven-haired woman had to say. “I guess she’s still lurking around somewhere?”

Ainsle shrugged once more. “Probably. The girl’s bloody slippery, I tell you. She was always good at moving about quietly, but whatever new power she has now… I don’t know.”

“Okay-” He began as the Berserker raised a hand in interruption.

“That can wait for now. What’s the plan, Benny boy? Are there gonna be any nasty surprises?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I know that the Faceless were made by one of the Speaker’s concepts, but I don’t know if I took all of them from her.”

Ainsle glanced at the ceiling and then over her shoulder. “I saw a bunch of cunts dead in the big room. How many you got left?”

Ben closed his eyes and quickly counted the dim lights in the darkness. He had told his subjects to protect the passageway leading to the warded room, and the creatures obeyed, silently clinging to the ceiling and walls. “About… twenty. Nineteen,” he said after a beat.

The old Berserker let out a low whistle. “Huh, so those little assassins gave you a hard time? There were hundreds of the cunts the first time I looked.”

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He felt a pang in his chest at the recollection of the conflict that saw his friend dead. If only he’d been quicker, he began to think before a cool clarity swept over his mind. “Yeah. Why do you ask? Do you have an idea on how to use them?”

“Nah, you seem to have it under control. Just thinking how much meat we got between us and whatever the fuck is waiting behind that door.”

“I thought I could use them to protect June and Ann while we go.” Ben glanced at the short sword attached to his mentor’s belt. “I don’t want to let them out of my sight, but then again…”

“You don’t wanna put them in danger,” Ainsle supplied knowingly.

Ben nodded. “June is… I don’t know. She needs time, I think. And Ann, I’m worried about the Speaker's hold on her. I feel like…” He chewed his lip. “Like we’re playing into some greater plan. Like this fate has decided everything for us already, and we’re just acting out the script.”

Ainsle nodded thoughtfully and gestured with an open palm for Ben to continue.

“But there’s got to be more to it than that. Someone or something is doing this. Like, everything has been so conveniently laid out in front of us… Back in the forest, before you and Jor came, Ann told me something… She said she dreamt that I was going to kill her.”

The Berserker’s head perked up. “I’ll admit that I was never a huge believer in that shit… But given what’s been going on lately, it sounds like something you gotta pay attention to.”

“Yeah, and how she spoke about the Speaker makes me wonder if the plan was for her to turn on us.”

Ainsle nodded after a beat. “I’ll restrain her if it comes to that, but I’m thinking we should stick together.”

Ben grimaced. “I think so too, though I don’t like it at all,” he said reluctantly. “That means June will come with us, which answers the next question.” He paused as he considered the upcoming conflict. “I was thinking we might need to fight the Champion in Ann’s domain again. Maybe June can put us to sleep with that ring of hers again?”

“Maybe. I’ll talk to the girl,” Ainsle said as she pushed herself off the wall. “As for the Speaker, might be that we need to tear the bitch a couple new holes to convince her to release her grip. If not, then your dream walk should do it.”

“Sounds good,” Ben said as he rolled his shoulders.

“In the morning. Come on, lover boy, you can use the rest, too.”

He glanced up the dark stairway. “You go on in. I don’t need much sleep nowadays, so I think I might go for a walk.”

Ainsle regarded her apprentice with pursed lips. “If you say so,” she said as she turned away from him. “Hear her out, is all I’m asking.”

The pair parted —Ainsle toward the warded chamber and Ben up the spiraling stairway as he touched his shoulder absently. The muscle was stiff from the Matron’s attack and subsequent excision of flesh by his Keeper; it hadn’t quite healed fully, even with the power of his Keeper’s regenerative Aura. Ann had mentioned that he would need a Healer to repair the damage and that her Aura only accelerated what his body would have naturally done on its own.

He ascended the dark stairway in silence. The Faceless horrors parted to allow his passage before he arrived in the large narthex once more. He walked to the middle of the rubble-strewn entrance room and stood. Ben waited for a few heartbeats before calling out.

“Let’s talk,” he said to the dimly lit room.

Several minutes passed before he walked over to the open archway to the nave and placed his weapon against the stone wall. He returned to the center of the room after retrieving what appeared to be an old bedside cabinet which he sat upon.

“I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk,” he tried again.

Nothing. A few moments later, amidst the muffled sounds of the howling winds, Ben heard a boot touch the stone floor to his left. He turned to see Jor Vasylius in dyed black leather armor —a puncture in the woven straps of the abdomen was grimy with dried blood. She regarded him warily with wide green eyes; deep, dark rings spoke of many sleepless nights. Her posture was hunched, skittish, as if she feared approaching him. Her fair, lightly freckled cheeks were pale and shone with sweat. She brushed a damp lock of dark hair from her brow, her large ornate bow held in the other hand. Ben’s former companion stood motionless. Silent.

“Jor,” he said with a voice schooled into an even tone. He warred against the instinct to lunge at her. His calm mind seemingly allowing his will to have a tighter grip on his impulses. “I was supposed to kill you.”

“Ben,” Jor said as her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and straightened. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Something is working in the background to see you dead. Something or someone,” Ben said, ignoring the woman’s apology. “I’m trying to figure out what it is, and I have the feeling that killing you won’t get me what I want.”

Jor swallowed. “What do you want?”

“For my friends to live.”

The raven-haired woman hesitated for a beat. “What about the coming of the Betrayer?” she asked, trembling.

“I don’t care,” he began before grimacing. He wondered about the strength of the oath he swore to Etheldreda —the extent to which it bound him to the fate he so adamantly wished to avoid. “Why are you here?”

“I… a lot has happened since that day. Since I lost my Avatar-”

“Spare me the sob story for now,” Ben interrupted. He took a deep breath to soothe the heat that had begun to flush his cheeks. “Understand that it’s taking a lot for me to restrain these impulses. I wouldn't say I like it, but it is what it is. Answer my question. Please.”

Jor appeared cowed at the words. She brushed the same stubborn lock of hair from her eyes and averted her gaze. “To protect you. To protect Ainsle and Ann… Listen, Ben…” Her eyes met his. “I won’t make excuses for what I did. I was weak. Broken, I think.” She paused. “I’m getting better. I want to get better, and I’m seeing progress every day. The voices are quiet when I’m near the three of you.”

Ben frowned, yet the subtle disdain for the woman remained a dull ache in the recesses of his mind. “How long have you followed us?” he asked.

“About a month before you woke in Honeydew,” she said, and Ben opened his mouth to speak, eyes wide. Jor continued, interrupting any further questions. “I intercepted letters from informants in the city and forged replacements saying you fled after your encounter… Some must have slipped through, or your whereabouts were scried because I panicked when an Inquisitor —with the Apprentices of Magus Mwalenu— showed up in the city looking for you.”

“Eric is still after me?” Ben asked, brows furrowed.

“Yes. He wants your Avatar, though he hasn’t been idle since you last saw him. He’s getting stronger, Ben. I’ve gotten word that the Champion of Order went missing a few weeks ago while in the Capital.”

“You suspect he consumed the Champion’s power?”

“It has to be. Yeulidias’ Champion attended the meeting with the Council, the same one you and Ainsle were summoned to.”

Ben considered the woman’s words and shook his head after a beat. He glanced at the large doors that led to the courtyard outside the temple and saw the faint glow of early morning light creep through the cracks beneath the massive entryway. “I’ve got a Matron to kill. Let’s pick this conversation back up after.”

Ben turned and approached the archway which led to the warded room. He paused and glanced over his shoulder at the woman who shuddered where she stood. The glistening of tears in the flickering torchlight streamed down her dirty cheeks. Ben cleared his throat and called back to the Archer.

“You coming?”