Ranvir had seen little of Mihail since his betrayal in the fold, but the man looked much diminished since that time. More so than Ranvir would’ve expected.

Mihail’s unwashed stench rolled across the room in pungent waves. His hair matted and sticking together in an impenetrable tangle. Heavy black bags sagged under his eyes, straining them to their limits. His sclera were bloodshot, with clear veins of red trailing into towards the iris. The orbs themselves looked swollen and sensitive as he swayed in his seat.

Mihail’s jaw, previously clean-shaven, now had at least a week’s patchy growth that did him no favors. Especially combined with his disorderly outfit, which appeared to be the same clothes he’d left the fold in. Creases and stains were liberally distributed across his shirt and the seam to his left shoulder had torn half-way off.

Ranvir tried to stifle a wince as he breathed in through his mouth. Already, Ranvir could feel his Perception shifting, changing to focus on his hearing and touch to compensate for the smell.

“You came,” rasped Mihail. His voice sounded strained and torn, like he’d been up screaming all night. Already, Ranvir was very happy that he’d gotten Frija away. Even if she wouldn’t have gone into the meeting with him, Ranvir wouldn’t have wanted her to see someone in such a state as this.

“I did,” Ranvir said, as Kyriake shut the door behind him. He took out a chair opposite Mihail and gingerly sat down. Inspecting the man with his tether-sense revealed just how far the damage he’d done to himself went.

His spirit was just as torn, bruised, and mistreated as the rest of him. Ranvir doubted there was much feeling in the scout’s tether-sense at the moment. His soul might be so numb as to not even detect a blatant scan of his spirit. Not that Ranvir would ever be so blatant without threatening.

“You don’t look well,” Ranvir said, uncertain how to broach the subject.

Mihail coughed out a short laugh, the sound forcing a wheeze from him. “Ha. You might just be right,” his face turned in an ugly scowl. “What happened? What did you do to him? Did you kill him?”

Ranvir shook his head. “I didn’t. I couldn’t,” he winced, feeling a phantom throb in his fingers as he revealed his lost arm. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

Mihail sneered at the lost limb. Ranvir could almost see the burn in his half-lidded eyes as the mercenary glared at him. “Then what happened?”

Ranvir sighed. “We- he talked. About the Red Raid and more,” rubbing his stump, Ranvir leaned back in his seat. He fumbled over his words, his mind stuttering like it always did as his fingers wandered from flesh to bandaged stump.

He’d done his best to avoid thinking about it, concentrating on the future. Surely, Belnavir would hold a solution. Around Frija, it was almost easy. He could become someone other than Ranvir, someone bigger than him. He became ‘Dad’, and that lent him the strength to focus not on his mere struggles but on giving his daughter the best life he could.

But when she’d gone to sleep, Ranvir was all that was left. Lying in his bed, listening to her soft breathing, feeling the blood throbbing through a limb he no longer had and reliving the noise of breaking bones he’d never heard.

He cleared his throat and removed his hand. “Sabas talked about how he thought of the Arkrotas, I believe Bacenor in specific.”

Mihail nodded. “He hated him.”

Ranvir grimaced, but nodded. “Sabas talked about how he feared he was becoming like them. Doing things and continuing out of habit, rather than intention. Letting things escalate when he should’ve stopped them early on.”

Mihail frowned, his eyes closing. “No, no, no. He wouldn’t have.”

“When the boss surfaced, Sabas decided he was going to fight it. Give me the time I needed to escape.”

Mihail growled deep in his throat and slammed a fist into the table, halfway standing up. “That’s a lie! Sabas wouldn’t have! He could’ve found a better way. He didn’t need to fight the boss. If he truly wanted to save you, he could’ve carried you,” as Mihail continued, he deflated until he slumped back in his chair, burying his eyes in the crook of his arms.

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“I saw him unleash all of his mana in a massive attack before I escaped,” Ranvir said.

They were all quiet for a moment before Mihail burst to his feet. He moved fast enough to throw the chair back into the wall, cracking the plaster. “Liar!” he slammed a fist into the table, this time with enough force to crack the board. Ranvir felt the shock through the floor from the force of the blow. “Sabas was not a coward! He wouldn’t… Not like that!”

Mihail took one step forwards before Kyriake was there. Her spirit flooded out of her, easily overwhelming him and knocking him unconscious. Mihail fell limp, Kyriake catching him by the elbow and the neck of his shirt.

Ranvir sensed the others swiftly approaching the door, sensing Kyriake’s assertion. They knocked once before entering. There were three of them. Ranvir recognized each as braced in the middle Tiers of Urityon.

Each of them had a spirit that could compete with a master from back home. Each of them bore their full Sentinel regalia, three banners hanging from their shoulder. The yellow banner of Keeper, making them second only to Kyriake in Legea. Then all of them had a colored banner to match the three factions within the Sentinels: Gray, dark red, and a pale green, which all had elaborate Fiyan names, and finally their black stripes on white banner for Urityon.

Kyriake looked down at the man slumped in her arms with pity. “Find the mercenary company Mercy’s Redoubt and bring him to them. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Ma’am,” the first Keeper said with a nod. She gingerly took Mihail, wincing at the scents wafting off him. She bore the gray banner of Tiritís, the administrators of the Sentinels. Though her strength belied that as her first calling. Tiritís rarely advanced beyond the middle-kistios stages. Higher Tier usually came from the guardians or combatants and changed their duties later in life.

Ranvir rested his head on the palm of his hand after the others carried the unconscious man out of the room. His smell lingered. Kyriake clearly noticed as well, going to the window and cracking it open.

“That…” Ranvir began. “I don’t know what to say. I…” he threw his hand up before rubbing his face. “I guess I expected it to take longer.”

Kyriake had turned back from the window, looking at him from across the room. “It was a tough bite to swallow, that’s for sure.”

Ranvir nodded, feeling tired.

“It’s tough for people like him. Like us,” Kyriake said, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Being a fighter, the battlefield requires a certain rigidity. At least, if you intend to fight for any extended period of time. But if you don’t take the proper precautions, you become too rigid and turn brittle instead. The Red Raid broke a lot of rigid men and women. Most didn’t even realize it at the time.”

“You know of it?”

Kyriake nodded. “Most everyone does. But it’s not generally something that comes up in everyday conversation, so it’s no surprise you didn’t realize.”

Ranvir shook his head. “Mihail called him a coward, though.”

“Because he’s right,” Kyriake said. “Sabas could probably have just carried you out if that was his intentions.”

Ranvir’s stomach dropped, a void maw realizing its form within him with the realization. “So he…”

“Likely,” Kyriake said. “Though, there might be some other circumstances I’m not aware of since I couldn’t get inside the fold,” then she straightened. “But let’s not talk about this any longer. Those conversations are for darker days. I’ve got a line on your katapetra,” she fished in her pocket for a slip of paper and handed it to him. “That’s the initial offer, but I think I can bump it a little bit.”

Ranvir’s eyebrows rose as double checked to make sure he was right. “You sure? This seems like a lot.”

Kyriake rolled her head back and forth. “It is, and it isn’t. It’s a lot of keys, but it takes too long to move and requires too many connections for most to do it. Would’ve been easier to sell something from crussor itself and save the stone for someone you care about.”

Ranvir shook his head. “I was worried Ione’s translator was overcharging me, but this puts me well above their budget,” he waved the paper. “Thanks for this,” it was a tidy sum of money, far more than he usually had available even after joining the Sentinels, but it wasn’t life changing amounts. The leftover would be set to chip off more of his loan from Ione. Between this sale and the money he would make as an Urityon, he might finish paying her back within six or seven years, if not a little earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” Kyriake clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a friend, Ranvir. We help each other.”

Ranvir smiled and nodded return, storing the paper.

“Now, go see about your daughter’s shopping trip.”

Ranvir grinned and nodded. Leaving the Sentinels, he stumbled upon a little stand with colorful strips of cloth flapping in the hundreds. It was manned by a girl in the middle teens.

“Hi,” Ranvir said, nodding to her and looking at the all the tassels. “What’s a suitable color for a red-haired girl?”

“I have a few options for you, sir,” she replied, tapping her jaw twice.

Ranvir popped into the space in front of a shop. However, its sign didn’t read as he’d expected it to. Ira’s Sweet Swindlings smelled strongly of sugar and, unsurprisingly, sweets. Frija and Alexis were sitting on a bench outside, sharing a bag that they’d presumably gotten from inside.

“Yeah, sometimes he gets almost naked and starts doing all these weird movements,” Frija tutted and shook her head. She sat with her legs crossed at the knees, feet swinging in the air.

“Sounds like a silly dad thing to do,” Alexis muttered in agreement, sucking on some hard candy.

“Very silly!” Frija nodded in enthusiastic agreement and turning to look at Alexis. Ranvir smiled as the move brought him into view.

“What’s silly?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Frija said quickly, trying to hide the bag.

“You,” Alexis replied, grinning at him.