All was eery and still as shadows stretched long across marbled squares and colonnades. Not a soul stirred. High above, the crescent moon cast a pallid grow on the facades. Virelia ran ahead, darting from corner to corner, sweeping her gaze across dark streets, filled with dread. The empty spaces beneath the awnings harboured nothing less than the abyss, each one seeming like a gateway to the domain of Moros, the god of death. They were a long way from the Oreni district, and Otto was bleeding out fast. Lucius had pleaded with Sharad, asking if there was anything he could do, but the elf knew no spells to heal, only to harm. She thought of Aquila as she scouted. Part of her felt betrayed, but part of her understood. The sight of blood had always terrified him, ever since his mother had died. She wished she could speak to him, to make him understand, but she couldn’t think of what she might say. Her mind flitted back to the image of the man she had left outside the gates, drowning in a pool of his own blood, the liquid blacker than the sky. It seemed as if Aquila’s fear had infected her too, and she was seeing a dead man with virgin eyes once more. Her head swirled, and nausea took hold of her.

After a while, the rest had caught up to her as she took shelter beside a stack of barrels in an alley. The smell of aged wine seeped through the wood, and they were damp in the night air as she pressed her hand against them. Otto’s breath had become a rattle, and the blood flowing from his wound had thickened to syrup. They were close to the edge of the Opis district. From here the faint outline of the Spire loomed ever closer, ever more dreadful. Virelia touched her fingers to Otto’s pallid flesh. No hint of heat remained, colder than the night itself. Virelia searched her mind, wading through the options as if they were rising water in a sealed chamber.

“I know a healer in the Aveline. He’s a priest, lives on the upper floor in a little temple of Corsas. He might be reluctant, but if he sees the state Otto is in, he’ll have to help.” She told them, as Lucius pushed against Otto’s sagging weight. Sharad nodded his approval. The slave woman trailed behind, head turning wildly in every direction with terror, her cheeks wet with tears.

They skirted around the border of the Melitine, avoiding a patrol of guards, passing in the shadow of the Basilikon. Lucius grunted from the strain, as Otto finally lost consciousness. Sharad cursed, as they both hoisted the man by an arm and a leg each. His head rolled back and hung limp, gently rocking as they moved. Their path took them south, and they finally crossed into the Aveline. Despite the district’s raucous reputation, a crushing quiet had fallen even here. A few taverns remained open, but only a stirring of conversation echoed, as last calls rang and a few drunkards wandered home. One of them shouted at the group as they dragged Otto, making a vulgar gesture at the slave woman. Virelia flashed with anger, drawing her blade just out of its sheath wordlessly. Fear washed over the man, who bellowed apologies and ran away.

Finally, they stood before the modest temple to Corsas, the doors flanked by two statues. They were armless, headless torsos of man and woman. The hinges whined as it swung open, a rush of warm air flowing out. A small brazier was the only light source, illuminating the symbol of Corsas, an X, wrought in steel covered in orange paint. It seemed to glow as they approached, and Virelia called up into the rafters, struggling to remember the priest's name. Above, a wispy little head poked out, looking downwards with fear in his eyes.

“You left your door open.” Virelia said, and the little man nodded.

“Corsas welcomes all, day and night.” He declared, his voice still being dragged from sleep. He climbed down the wooden ladder and approached the group, his gaze resting on the hulking figure carried in by Lucius and Sharad. The slave woman lingered by the door, before taking a seat at the back and burying her face in her hands. Virelia assumed she was praying, but she couldn’t hazard a guess what for.

“I’ll lay out a blanket before the symbol. Rest him upon it.” The little priest said, running into a side room to find one. He returned quick, and they placed Otto down on it as gently as they could.

“Strip him, a man must be bare before Corsas.” The priest said, and they reluctantly obeyed, wrenching off his doublet and breeches, and slipping off the loincloth. Virelia averted her eyes out of respect. To her surprise, the wound was already developing a strong odour, and it was enough to make her pinch her nose. The priest kneeled between the brazier beneath the orange symbol and Otto’s naked form. He dipped his hand into a jar of viscous oil and brushed it along Otto’s chest and limbs. His blood was almost dry and didn’t even smudge despite the liquid. The priest began chanting as he pinched herbs and salts from other bowls, flicking them across Otto’s skin until they coated him like sand. As he whispered words and made signs with his hand, his face went pale.“What weapon caused this wound?” He asked, and Lucius looked to Virelia.

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“A shortsword, why?” She said in confusion.

“This was no ordinary weapon, the wound is festering too fast, are you sure it was not poisoned or enchanted?”

“Hardly seems likely. The man was a Senator, not an assassin.” Virelia replied, frowning as she stared at the priest.

“The leg must go, else this curse shall pass into his whole body.” He said finally. Virelia’s eyes widened as she looked at Otto. They had been fast friends when she joined the Ironfoots. He had saved her skin more times than she could count. She could not imagine him as a cripple.

“Black pits. There must be another way. Don’t you have some spell that can stop it?” She pleaded, but the priest shook his head.

“Not now, it is far too late, I am truly sorry.” He said, tone weak.

“Help me take him to the other room, it is better to be done in there, Corsas cannot help us in such matters.” Lucius and Sharad looked at Virelia with reluctance, but she nodded, turning away and blinking back tears. They hoisted him up and carried him through, the priest following.

They sat before the symbol for hours, listening to the horrific sounds coming through the door. When they heard the saw hit bone, Virelia could only cover her ears and try not to vomit. They heard blood spill onto the floor, the cursing of the priest, whispers of spells being cast, and finally, the door opened. The little man slinked out of the room, looking half a corpse.

“It is done. The bleeding has stopped, and the wound is covered. The leg is gone, burnt as an offering to aid the spell.” He admitted, and Virelia stood up in anger.

“What!? So you just burned it to ash? I’ve heard tales of healers who can even reattach limbs, we could’ve kept it!” She shouted, and the man was taken aback, tugging at his robes as he looked away.

“I am terribly sorry madam, I am. But it was the only way to ensure the spell would work! These are fickle matters.” He said, sorrow in his voice as he stepped forward. Lucius stood.

“I’m going to see him.” He said, pushing past the priest to the side room.

“Be careful, he must rest.” The priest called after him feebly.

Virelia followed Lucius inside. The smell of blood and burnt flesh wafted as they walked in and saw Otto’s naked body laid out on a table. His leg had been taken very high up, not even an inch of it remaining. Lucius grimaced at the pool of blood on the floor, and stepped around it, almost knocking the still bloody bone saw off a tray. They stayed with Otto for some time, but eventually decided to leave him to rest and recover, deciding there was nothing more they could do for him.

Sharad had already disappeared by the time they left. Virelia could tell Lucius didn’t trust the man, and she couldn’t say she did either, though he proved himself useful. It was rare that a slave managed to free themselves, remove their own brand and join the Ironfoots. Virelia thought back to that news she’d heard about the family murdered by their slaves, even the children. She hated slave owners, but the children were innocent, and the story twisted knots in her stomach. Virelia wondered if he had something to do with it since he appeared right after she heard the news. Lucius had a sullen look as he walked next to her, and she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright Lucius. Otto’s sister will take care of him. We’ll give him all the support he needs.” She said. Lucius nodded.

“I can’t bear to see him that way. When he finds out he’s a cripple, he’ll want to end it.” He replied, voice quivering with sorrow. Virelia’s eyes widened.

“No. He’s strong. He’ll make it through.”

“I not so sure… Virelia, don’t you think it’s justified sometimes?” He asked, eyes shimmering. She was taken aback, unsure of how to respond.

“…Lots of people are crippled in war. I think it's insulting to act like life isn’t worth living when so many others deal with worse.” She said. Lucius gave her a long stare, and then fell silent. They walked for a long time like that, until finally Virelia arrived, back at the small tenement building where she lived. She turned to Lucius and finally broke the silence.

“You want to come in?” She asked, and he seemed surprised.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” He replied, and began following her up the central stairs and to third floor.

It was a modest place. Two cramped rooms, one bedroom, one kitchen with a pair of dusty old sofas and a low table. The bathing room and toilet were across the hall, shared by everyone on the third floor, much to Virelia’s disgust. But being a rebel wasn’t always lucrative work, and she made do with what she could. Lucius sat down on the sofa and rested his chin on his hands. Virelia walked over to the cupboard, bringing out an old bottle of wine. She didn’t have any glasses handy, so simply uncorked it and drank it from the bottle, before offering it to Lucius. He accepted and took a swig, as she sat down across from him. They both stared out of the window onto the dark streets. Dawn couldn’t be far away by now. All she could do was think of Aquila, and hope he was safe.