There is an old legend about the founding of Alastair. It was said that Helera herself saw the people of Valarion struggling to survive on the swampy ground, and gave her one of the fruits from her bounty to secure the soil and make it fit for building on. This story, of course, contradicts records from the Saerthellis and other tomes, but is still often told to young children within the country. Though the details of the founding aren’t specific, perhaps the truth lies somewhere between the story and the records?

The hall grew hushed, the pews resuming the volume of a normal nighttime. Lilith held Gwindon on the floor, blood pouring over his right eye from the blow to his head. From the one unobscured vision, he could see the guards slowly marching into the church and clearing a path at the door. From the midnight sky, moonlight dimly illuminated an imposing figure from the road. He strode inside, slowly adding definition to his character until he had fully entered the room.

Daylon held the priests behind him protectively, the warhammer still in his hand as he stared at the approaching form. A scowl carved into his face as he quickly recognized the intruder. He wasn’t the first to do so however, a mere second behind Icara.

Her sword smashed to the hilt, she flung it to the side and stared at him with a glazed expression. The posture of a confident warrior woman was replaced with an animalistic stance. She looked ready to pounce, not strike, but held her position with a cold glare. Only when her lips curled back to snarl at him did the room once again fill with noise from the power of her shout.

“Koshchei...!”

The man dusted off his plain white robe with intricate inlays of gold embroidery. It was clearly something more fitting for a common noble than a king. His face was clear and sharp, with the same bright halos in his eyes that Icara had. With one hand, he swept back the pitch black hair on his head and cleared his throat.

“I had hoped to capture you myself to avoid some embarrassment on behalf of the kingdom...” he explained without question, turning to the wounded knight and paladin in the back. “But it seems this has gone beyond that at this point. Just how many people have you killed tonight?”

Her eyes hungrily scanned over the guards of the king. Men trained for years at their task, and outfitted with weapons of the finest steel, shivered at the look. The well disciplined guard remained at the ready for their king. She turned her head back to the paladin and frightened the small congregation behind him.

“You... give me that weapon, if you would. I need to kill him... I must get revenge now...” she said, her voice distant and strange.

Daylon tightened his grip on the hammer and glared back at her, hefting it to strike if she came near. His resolve was enough to resist the stare alone, so Icara instinctively turned towards the knight and mercenary.

“I need a weapon... need to kill him. Could steal one of the halberds... break a pew and use the wood...” she muttered, eyes rapidly dashing back and forth, as if she was sleepwalking.

“Enough of this. Daylon, is it? Has the creature caused anyone in the congregation harm? I would loathe to find any innocent blood had been shed because of my own carelessness...”

Icara snapped her attention back and the men there flinched, aside from Koshchei himself. He pulled a blade out from his coat and showed it to her. The room fell quiet as her eyes locked onto the weapon, like a dog about to fetch a stick. To the surprised gathering, he dropped it on the ground and folded his arms.

“She hasn’t, your highness. Not that I am aware, nor fatally at least,” Daylon responded, watching the scene play out.

“Good. All it will take is a matter of explaining our history to clean this mess up then, I presume,” he said before taking a step closer to Icara.

She growled and the guards lowered the blades and halberds they held with them. Koshchei raised a hand to ease them and stood his ground.

“Our history?” Icara said in the distant voice, her face making an alien imitation of sarcastic joy. “You mean about how you stole the throne from my family through murder? How you sold me off to the Karkh’ala in Korrem as seasoning for worms? All you deserve is to be put in the ground like my parents!”

“Do you really think I’d be so stupid as to keep a child alive if I usurped the throne? Why sell you off to begin with? Your story is littered with holes and abnormalities, and I believe I know the reason why,” he said, gesturing out to her. “Because you yourself are the one who murdered King and Queen Valarus ten years ago.”

The room tensed and Icara charged at the king in a mad fury. All the guards, stunned by her near inhuman speed, failed to react in time. Koshchei himself defended this time, lifting his foot in a flash. The hit to her chest stunned and broke her animalistic sprint. Icara wheezed the air from her lungs and gasped heavily, trying to gather any breath she could.

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“The hell are you saying?!” Gwindon cut in from the back, struggling to his feet. “If she was the one who murdered the king and queen, why does she want to get back here so bad?! Are you really going to tell me she’s a demon in disguise, trying to scheme her way back to the top after pulling off a stunt like that?”

“Far from it. You’ve seen it, she’s incredibly wild in her behavior, but seemingly only under a set circumstance. It’s as if two souls have been thrust into one body...” He glanced to Gwindon and Lilith. “She’s a creature born from a misfortunate circumstance. The matters of which are rather delicate to discuss, so I would have preferred they stayed hidden.”

Icara clawed her way back to her feet, eyes wild once more. She grabbed the hem of Koshchei’s robe, only for him to spin in place quickly and land a dizzying blow to her head. Confusion wracked her brain in the stunning hit, each strike felt faster and harder than any that had managed to come her way before. The fighter knew something was wrong, but it couldn’t explain it. The whole room suddenly felt as if it weighed down on her, like she was growing weaker just from being in it.

“I’m swearing all of you to secrecy on this matter, given its embarrassing nature. About ten years ago, when the Valarus family still ruled Alastair, the only heir to their throne became deathly ill. Her skin was pale, and the lights in her eyes would not grow as they should have been during her age. Worried about losing their only heir, the royal family was met with an... immoral offer,” Koshchei said, glancing back down at Icara as she struggled onto her elbows for support. “A demon approached the family and offered to bond with the child, ensuring she’d be strong enough to survive the sickness.”

“What?!” Daylon erupted, pushing the priests away and stepping forward. “You believe the church could have missed something like that happening again? We have thorough methods of ensuring the purity of noble blood!”

“You wouldn’t be able to find them out, considering they died shortly after arranging the matter. The demon didn’t survive the exchange either, I discovered. They had attempted to seal the demon inside of the princess, but the demon had tricked them, trying to overtake her body completely. Such was her constitution that the demon failed to do this, shattering and leaving the signs of an attack I was left to report. What I did not tell anyone but one other, was that the attempt did not completely fail...”

“A partial bond?” Lilith asked. “I’d always figured something like that could be possible... it’s like what Gwindon and I went through. A child that young being able to survive that, however...” she drifted off, lost in the possibilities.

“He’s LYING!” Icara shouted, having regained some of her breath.

“I had planned to send her away to the church by anonymous protection, but the caravan holding her was attacked by the Karkh’ala as they passed through. They must’ve found the papers explaining her noble birth and decided to keep her as... whatever Icara remembers of back then,” Koshchei explained, walking over to the dagger and picking it up off the ground. “Rest assured, whatever this creature is, she is not the lady Icara. I’ve studied the matter a little on my own, and made some preparations for her return. Sadly, I’ve been away on diplomatic duties until recently, leading to this... unfortunate circumstance.”

Silence tried to take hold of the room once more, the information surging through the minds of all but two within the room. Icara got to her feet again and returned to the animalistic posture from before. Noticing he had the knife again, she bounded clumsily over the pews towards Gwindon and Lilith. Collapsing on the floor in front of them, she held out a hand hungrily, her wild eyes darting between the two of them.

“Gwindon... Lilith... give me something to fight with! Don’t you see that he’s going to kill me?! I need something to protect myself with!” She pleaded.

His eyes locked onto hers and then moved to Koshchei. The king was silent in his approach, the dagger held ominously in his right hand. Light from the windows reflected off of the small blade. In the movement, he noticed a subtle shimmer on its surface. Icara slammed her fist down on the ground in front of him and his attention was brought back. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, contrasting harshly with the furious glare she was giving them both.

“Your sword!” She repeated. “He’s going to—!”

The blade flashed out from his side and slit open the side of her neck. Icara’s eyes went wide for a second and she quickly grasped the wound, collapsing to her knees as she stared at the ground. All the fury in her heart seeped out with the blood and she looked over the audience once more. Lilith closed her eyes, unable to bear the pain of watching the young girl fall. Gwindon met her head on, staring back as Icara’s eyes dilated and closed the halos of her irises.

“Gwin... don... please...” she muttered before falling forward in a heap, one hand still stretching out to him.

Koshchei inspected his dagger and gave it a flick, expelling some ointment on the weapon. He reached down and felt her neck, nodding after a few seconds. All the room listened carefully for his voice to follow, but he merely nodded to one of the soldiers. Two with swords sheathed their blades and approached, hefting Icara up off the ground.

“She’s been sedated with a poison for now. Given her inhuman resilience, I expect she’ll awaken far short of the normal day long period, but it will be enough to bring her to a cell and restrain her.” Koshchei explained before turning his gaze to the knight and mercenary. “I’ll also be bringing the both of you into custody, but not for very long I’d imagine. Given your part in all this, it should be a simple matter to pardon you for the time being.”

“Yes, I suppose that’d be fine. I’ve got my boys waiting for me back at camp. We can go and meet them together, Gwindon. I’m sure they’ll love you there!” Lilith said, her mood growing a little brighter with each word. She turned back to the knight and cocked an eyebrow at his limp form. “...Gwindon?”

“No...” he muttered, a single tear falling to the ground and mixing with his blood. “I’m not going to be released. After all I’ve done and suffered, there’s nothing left for me here anymore...”

Lilith moved to help him, but Gwindon raised his sword at her. The room paused as he lifted up his body once more, the moonlight shifting and revealing his tear streaked face of determination. He turned towards the paladin with the sword at his side, shambling towards him. Daylon watched in astonishment at the fortitude on display, readying his weapon when the knight finally stopped a few feet from him.

“High priest under Berkahn, paladin of the fields and protector of the flock...” Gwindon said, wiping some tears from his face and replacing it with a smear of drying blood. “Arrest me, and take me to trial. I admit to working with demons, to the slaughter of the desert rose—”

“Gwindon, no!” Lilith said, running up towards him. She skid to a halt as he turned, leveling the blade at her again. His eyes were glazed and distant, like a corpse had been animated in parody of his image.

“...and for attempting to corrupt, and later murder, my own wife.”

“You sure you want to admit that crime, knight?” Daylon asked. “That confession might as well sign your death warrant. I’ll have to bring you to trial and you’ll be executed in the holy city.”

Lilith pleaded with her eyes, but Gwindon did not waver. With a heavy movement of his arm, he tossed the blade and caught it above the hilt, holding it out to her.

“Take it. You deserve it more than me now.”

She flashed from fear to anger, squeezing his gauntleted hand onto the blade and yanking him closer. “I’m going to hold onto this... that’s it! Your sword is yours, dammit, don’t you ever tell me otherwise...” her voice trembled with every word as she took it from him and stormed out of the church.

Gwindon was grabbed lightly on either side by members of the cloth. Their faces were clear with worry over the situation, but he made sure not to frighten them further. As Koshchei and the guards left with Icara, the king stopped and gave a curious glance at him.