Thud.

Wilran hit the ground with a rattling crack. Agony ripped through her. A scream, deep and guttural escaped her from her throat as waves of pain pulsed outward from the core of her body, flooding every sense she had from the points of her ears to the tips of her toes. Her head throbbed, her joints burned, and her muscles seized in places she hadn't known existed.

She lay there, paralyzed by fear of the pain moving might unleash. Part of her wanted to let the body heal, to remain still until the torment dulled. But another sensation clawed its way into her awareness, overshadowing even the pain.

Cold. Bone-deep, soul-numbing cold.

She forced her eyes open, instantly regretting it. A fresh jolt of pain tore across her face, igniting her already pounding headache. As far as she could tell, there wasn't even much light, but it was enough to intensify the pain. Gritting her teeth, she fought through it, determined to make sense of where she was.

Snow?

Wilran blinked, trying to process the incongruity. The last thing she remembered was entering the temple of Lilith, deep in the humid Esha jungle. Now, delicate flurries drifted lazily through the air, illuminated by the glow of an unfamiliar night sky.

Is it really night? It's so dark but ...

The look and feeling of the atmosphere gave Wilran the impression it was night. Had she not be staring straight up from her back, she might have missed the beautiful display of green and blue lights danced across the sky in a dazzling exhibition, as if the two colors were teasing a playful love affair. In a small way, she was glad. In all her completions on Sainta she had never seen anything quite like the dancing colors perforating the night. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

The lights, while enticing, did nothing to change her peril. In a different time, she would have liked to have stayed and watched, but she knew the longer she laid in the bank, pain would be the least of her problems.

Frostbite, hypothermia, and eventually... Best not to think about that. You have to move. Go quickly. Just grit through it.

Finding no other paths of escape, determination set her resolve. Completions of stubbornness kicked in, readying her body for the move she was about to make.

As best she could, she lifted her arms. A cry escaped her lips as a single tear dripped down passed her cheek, freezing before falling to on the bank below. Her muscles fought against her. Her body begged her to stop and drop her hands, but she pushed on, twisting her hands in deliberate circles, summoning the energy for her healing spell.

Nothing.

To her horror, no warmth flooded her limbs, no glow of healing power. Granted, it wasn't the best healing spell she had ever cast, but it should have worked. The chant was correct, the movement was deliberate, and she willed the energy to flow through her body, but no energy manifested, no magic came.

Why now,? Why did it fail? I need...

Panic clawed at her, but she wasn't lost yet. More energy—she needed more energy. And that meant she had to pray. Lying still in the biting cold, Wilran closed her eyes, desperation thick in her voice as she called out, praying aloud for the first time out loud given the gravity of the situation.

"My Lilith, my Goddess, hear my plea."

"No," came an echo deep from the night.

Wilran opened her eyes, gasping in pain and shock. Never before the Goddess chosen to speak to her in actual words. Each time Wilran prayed, she felt Lilith's presence through a non-verbal link, a stirring deep within her that filled her with warmth and power. When words were used in her prayers, they were meant to benefit others, not herself nor the Goddess. She they didn't need to be. She was already in tune with the Goddess.

But there was no mistaking what she heard. For so long, she had yearned to hear even the simplest phrase, and now, twice within the span of a single day, she had been blessed with direct communication.

Unsure of how to proceed and not unsure of its meaning, Wilran repeated the word back to her greatest love.

"No?" she questioned softly, seeking clarity.

The wind howled across the vastness of snow, continuing to dance around her. Despite the elemental chaos, the only sound that penetrated her frostbitten ears was a second, thunderous denial, punctuated by an undercurrent of deep rage.

"NO."

The rage frightened Wilran, causing her to shift uncomfortably as pain flared in her bones. Tears welled in her eyes—not from the agony of her body, but from the implications of Lilith's refusal. It wasn't merely that the Goddess was displeased; if Lilith were unhappy with Wilran's actions, she would have found another way to express it.

Memories of her master's warnings echoed in her mind, tales of other clerics struck by nausea or small jolts of energy for their misdeeds. Even now she could hear his words echoing from the distance past, scolding her like the youngling she was.

"Our city is built upon rules and regulations for the betterment of all those in Sainta. When someone breaks the laws of the land, the kingdom is morally justified in punishing that behavior. After all, citizens are not younglings or chattel. the kingdom expects the adults to know better. Rarely does it matter what lead to a Saintian to commit a crime, the individual is held responsible. Actions have consequences.

"As disciples of the great Goddess Lilith, we understand she embodies kindness and benevolence. It is by her grace that our magic lives within us—a reward for following her will. As long as we adhere to her guidance, we will reap the benefits of life and magic until we join her in the afterlife.

"Since we are her followers, we too know better. If we do not follow the will of the Goddess, we commit the gravest of inequities: disobedience. When we do, the Goddess will punish us.

"Some might argue that such punishment is unfair, but they would be wrong. We willingly serve the Goddess, enjoying the fruits of her labor. When we intentionally commit iniquities against her, we are justly punished. If she is kind, consider yourself fortunate. But if she isn't... woe to the one who incurs her wrath."

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Wilran choked back a sob as realization hit her: she had committed the gravest of inequities. Wasting no time, she stammered a prayer, begging for forgiveness.

"My Goddess, my love. I know you are a God of compassion and mercy, ever watchful over those who seek your grace. In your boundless mercy, please hear my desperate plea. Forgive me, an iniquitous woman unworthy of being called your disciple, yet still yearning for your embrace. I am a wretched soul, humbled in the cold, acknowledging the weight of my sins.

Please don't forget me, even in my darkest hour. Let not my mistakes exclude me from your presence. I have wandered far from your light. Show me your kindness, O Lilith, by washing me clean of my guilt. Grant me the chance to rise anew, strengthened by your forgiveness, so I may serve you with a tender heart rekindled in devotion."

"And what offense was that youngling?"

Wilran's heart leaped. A chance, she rejoiced. She's giving me a chance prove my worth. Oh wonderful Lilith, may I not disappoint you.

"I have disobeyed you, my Goddess."

Without warning, a bolt of lightning shattered the tranquility of the night, pushing aside the blues and greens lights dancing across the sky. It struck the ground near her, sending a shockwave of electricity coursing through her body, amplifying her pain.

Ahhh! She screamed. She gasped for air, closing her eyes against the onslaught. Hot tears streamed down her cold cheeks as she floundered for control, but the goddess remained unmoved.

With a fury that shook the very air around her, Lilith demanded of her once again, "What OFFENSE, youngling?"

Fighting through the tears, pain, and biting cold, Wilran scrambled to remember. She knew her punishment could only stem from disobedience, yet she struggled to pinpoint her exact transgression. Panic rose within her as she stammered, searching for the answer that might save her from the Goddess's wrath.

"I ..."

Her mind spun back to the events of the day, retracing the steps that had led her here. Elite Team One had followed Captain Thepa and Rory to Lilith's temple. She remembered the six of them watching as the Goblin King left, and then Rory's transformation into Adreanna. It was then she suddenly remembered the mask and its siren's call.

"Faithful servant ... obey your priestess, destroy the others."

"I ..."

I failed in my task.

Not that she hadn't tried. She had gripped her mace and charged at Tash. Yenry still hadn't recovered from the force that had knocked them all back, and she hadn't been sure what Thepa or Zuna were doing behind her. But Julius had stepped in to intercept, blocking her blow with his short sword. For a time, she, Tash, and Julius traded strikes, though she could sense they were holding back. Desperation had pushed her to turn on Yenry once he rejoined the fight, but the moment the unknown paladin shattered Adreanna's mask, its siren call had died. With it, her mind cleared, her mace fallen from her hands.

"I ..."

I was supposed to kill my teammates. Her heart twisted with anguish. What kind of G-goddess... no... I mustn't think like that. I must obey my love at all costs. I must repent while I still have the chance.

Wilran swallowed hard, steeling herself. She knew what she had to do. She took in a shaky breath, trying in vain to still her trembling and stay her tears. When she finally spoke, her voice was raw, pushing against the doubt creeping against the lack of feeling in her frozen ears.

"I failed in my orders to carry out your will... to destroy my teammates."

Another bolt of lightning crashed down, and this time it did not miss. It struck her outstretched hand, and nothing in her life could have prepared Wilran for the agony that followed. The pain was indescribable, a searing torment that shattered any sense of time. Her screams tore through the night, ripping from her throat as the lightning coursed through her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should be dead. There was no conceivable way anyone could survive the torture she now experienced.

But Lilith wasn't finished with her.

When the lightning finally ceased, her screams gave way to deep, heaving sobs. She tried to draw her arm toward her chest, but nothing happened. Glancing down, she saw only a blackened, cauterized stump where her arm had been. The sight churned her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut, overcome by disgust and despair, but the goddess's voice pierced her thoughts once again.

"Wouldn't you agree an insolent youngling deserves to be punished?"

Through her tears, Wilran's broken words spilled out. "Yes... my loving grace."

The goddess's voice continued, dripped with condescension. "To fail is Saintian. It would... disappoint me if you failed. However, I do not set up my followers for failure. Therefore, I ask you one final time: What offense, youngling?"

Wilran's thoughts spiraled once more through the day's events—Rory's transformation, the mask's beckoning, and her attack on her comrades. But now, her mind shifted to what had come afterward: the clearing of her thoughts, the voice inside her that had broken free.

"Get them out!" the unknown paladin had shouted, and without hesitation, Wilran obeyed. She had begun casting spells her teleportation spell, while Thepa, Zuna, and the male members of Elite Team One turned their attacks on the now-transformed Adreanna.

My master was wrong, she realized. There is something far worse than disobedience.

This wasn't a matter of failing her task. She hadn't just hesitated or faltered. She had abandoned her mission altogether—and worse, she had aided the enemy's escape. It was no mere disobedience she committed against the goddess.

It was betrayal.

Wilran sobs returned with renewed force. The physical pain gnawing at her bones became indistinguishable from the sorrow flooding her heart. She knew now what was coming. There could be only one punishment for a traitor like her.

"The youngling learns," Lilith's voice resounded, cold and deliberate. "Very good. There might have been hope for you."

Wilran barely registered what was said. Though she could still feel the cold, most of the bite was gone. Even her body had stopped shivering. A cloudy haze overcame her mind as the whole thing started to feel more like a bad dream than a living nightmare. Part of her even started to wonder if she was really awake.

As Wilran's world grew dim, her mind fogging over from the cold and the unrelenting pain, Lilith's voice echoed one last time, fading into the backdrop of her consciousness. "I see you knocking on my door, Wilran. Why don't you enter, and we'll pick this back up then?"

A warm sensation spread through her lower body, and with it, the last vestiges of physical sensation began to fade. It might have been shameful under other circumstances, but now, in the face of everything else, it felt like a small mercy—a final comfort as she drifted beyond the realm of pain and despair.

"There she is."

A second voice pearced the darkness, soft and warm. It wasn't Lilith's cold, menacing tone, but something far more familiar, something from a time long past. Wilran blinked through the haze and saw her—her mother, standing as if no time had passed since she'd last been in their presence. Her mother's long, white hair danced in the wind, her pale skin luminous in the snow's glow. She looked as pristine as the winter landscape surrounding them, devoid of the dirt and toil that had once marred her appearance in life.

Her father's strong, commanding form stood beside her, his brown hair tied neatly back, the customary look of a Clayborn male. His hazel eyes, usually so stern and unyielding, softened as they met Wilran's gaze, offering a warmth she hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. In his eyes, she saw safety, comfort—home.

Father's ears. How I've missed them.

Wilran smiled faintly, a youngling's memory rising to the surface. She remembered how, when she was small and frightened, she would reach out to touch those ears, tracing their points with her little fingers as if they were talismans of protection. Now, as he bent down to lift her into his arms, she weakly reached out once more, brushing his ear with her trembling fingers before her strength finally gave way.

Her mother's voice rang with urgency, "We must act quickly. Get her inside before she freezes to death."

But Wilran didn't feel the rush. She felt the warmth of her father's arms lifting her up, cradling her as he had when she was a youngling. The cold, the biting pain, the betrayal—all of it began to slip away as her eyelids fluttered shut, her body sinking deeper into a peaceful darkness that consumed her soul. With a final thought, she gave into both it and her father's embrace.

I'm coming home.