Avvercus

As Rin settled into the chair, the woman in white began rapid firing questions about her health history. Satisfied after a minute or two, she turned around. From behind, Hudson could see the white clothing was more an apron and hat than anything, because the frills of a maid outfit were clear as day. This individual wasn’t a doctor… The maid saw Hudson’s skeptical gaze, and immediately pointed to something on the wall. There hung a medical degree, framed with pride. Though he couldn’t read it, the meaning was easy to interpret. He sighed and made no move to stop what went on. Rather, he approached his tiny, pale companion on the side that wasn’t being swabbed with cleaning solution and wrapped in a rubber band in what he had to admit was a professional manner. Kneeling down, he did his best to smile at her. Or, as much as Hudson smiled. “Look at me, Rin,” he said, taking her hand in his. The ‘nurse’ or ‘doctor’ or whatever the maid was supposed to also be placed the tip of the needle to the healer’s skin, hunting for a vein. “I want you to picture something.” The needle seemed to have found its entry point. “The cat,” he hissed, squeezing her hand just as the needle took the plunge. “Just… Why? Is that… Do people normally do that in this world?” He glanced at the blood collecting in what was quite literally a pint-sized glass jar on the counter. The blood reached a certain point and the ‘nurse’ went to tug the needle out. Hudson squeezed Rin’s hand at the same time that the instrument left her body and then stood up. “Are you feeling alright?” At the entrance to the room, the maid Charlotte waited patiently to take them to their room when they were ready. “If you’re light-headed, I’ll carry you again.”

The dancing flames which signified rest flickered through the reflection in Avvercus’ eyes. He didn’t let it show, but the small encounter with the Ombra had worn him out a bit, evidence he was still recovering from his alchemic ordeal. Just as he was about to relax and await dinner, the swordmage found himself whisked away by a strong finger crooked into his robes. Though he allowed himself to be dragged away with some reluctance, Avvercus couldn’t say that even if he resisted on strength alone he would have succeeded. Isbeth was rather strong, it seemed. His reluctance melted away at the inviting tone of his arachnid escort’s voice. Practically pushed along in front of the spider woman, Avvercus peered inside her home with curiosity. Honestly, this was not something he’d ever seen or heard of before from arachnids despite the many he had encountered during his travels. It was surprisingly spacious, more than enough to fit one of their kin within, just as the two had claimed. He stopped just before the blankets, taking care not to tread on them with his boots, before turning around. “This is quite the wagon… Comfortable, protects against the elements... Spacious. Since you have so much room, you won’t mind sharing with me tonight, will you?” He asked with a mischievous smile. It was then he noticed that there was no way for him to the leave the mobile home with Isbeth standing in the entrance and chuckled. “Or, perhaps you’ve already caught me in your web?” The smell of dinner beginning to cook wafted in from behind Isbeth. It would be quite a while until it was done. His mental link with Abigail would let him know if Miriam decided Ombra meat wasn’t enough of a dinner, and spending some time out of the Alchemist’s sight and forcing her to spend company along with something she detested might give her an opportunity to open up… and perhaps he would have some fun of his own in the meantime. Of course, the man had yet to rule out that this was an elaborate ruse to lower his guard. He kept it in mind, but it didn’t mean his guard was lowered none the less.

For lesser men, mere death was always the greatest fear to grasp the heart. Ansen of Carilssia, however, was no lesser man. Flashes of sepia blur the edges of his vision as festering focus fails to hold her thrashing visage center. Flesh drips with the oozing of mist, and a young girl’s face becomes a bloody obscurity. The image twists, fading into withering flames, dying embers that light the weeping face of a failed Priestess. A chorus of triumphantly howling demons are the first bell, and the blood-choked sobs of a lover left to die are the final toll, the toll of responsibility shirked… Before he even registered he was conscious, before his eyes could properly see past the bleary veil of slumber, Ansen’s bed was abandoned to kneel before another. Her porcelain skin was warm to the touch, where the bandages didn’t cover it. That face, always so serious and fierce, was oddly at peace in her dreams. Heaving a breath at the steady rhythm of her tiny chest rising and falling, the knight finally stood to take in his surroundings and ease the shivers that racked his stiff, healing body. The dreams were intense. No, not dreams, nightmares. Ansen did not fear death, but failing to protect what he held most precious. It was a dingy tent, barely clean enough to be called fit for the sick, but one that sufficed all the same. His armor was nowhere to be seen; memory recalled there wasn’t much left of it regardless. But, as sure as the sun rose each morning, there rested his faithful bulwark. The shield of a Carilssian knight, blessed by the Goddess of the order and bearing its crest. With its comforting weight on his arm, Ansen turned towards the tent entrance, his thoughts turning towards acquiring information on their situation. Deadly grace and beautiful lethality were good descriptors for the woman that stood there now. She appeared without a sound, not even the flap of tent cloth. Her eyes were a viridian forest, calm and hiding all manner of hidden mysteries and dangers. They were framed by long, silken emerald hair that cascaded down her back like an undisturbed waterfall, parting around long ears that marked her as an elf. Her body was a pale, honed blade, lithe and toned through diligent training and sporting average sized breasts and hips. She wore an exotic warrior’s attire, an all white ensemble that blurred the line between monk and dancer, and that showed off what Ansen thought was perhaps too much skin. She carried no weapons that he could see, and the man couldn’t image she’d be able to hide one with her garb. “It seems Carilssian knights are as sturdy as I remember. I expected you to be asleep at least one more day. Congratulations on surviving, Ansen.” Her feminine voice was soft, kind, and brimming with confidence and experience. The knight drew a breath of surprise at hearing his order’s name from a stranger’s mouth, less his own. “How do you know these things?” “I have been to your homeland, long, long ago. As for your name… I had ample opportunity to learn it while watching the two of you stumble around like lost babes in the valley of mist.” This was said with a certain air of superiority, one that lacked the venom of condescension, but rather the tone of an elder watching a child make mistakes born of inexperience. Ansen’s eyes flickered to Rainza, who for a moment appeared before him as a broken mess upon some strange ground in a strange place. Embers flecked away from his skin as anger swelled up, hot and righteous. “You watched? Why did you not help? My lady nearly died! She… Endured that pain, those sickening wounds… Why!?” Ansen snarled, nearly shouting at the stranger as the rare emotion of fury swept him up in its fiery wings. “Help? And deny the two of you experience, the chance to grow?” She asked with exasperation, shaking her head. “No, I think not. That aside, it was a trial, boy. My apprentice, Avvercus, has been teaching her, and he claims she is already beyond what he can impart. He asked that I take over as her master. Of course, I wouldn’t simply say yes. She exceeded my expectations… and surprisingly, so did you.” Arieya smiled, walking further into the tent to stop at the foot of Rainza’s bed, looking down at her with impressed eyes. They turned to Ansen, who was still processing what he was being told. What did she mean? “You know our names, is it not rude to conceal your own?” “Haha, you needed only ask. I am Arieya.” The elf chuckled at Ansen’s standoffishness. She turned her gaze from the knight to the unconscious Rainza and back. “The two of you are… mates, are you not?” Ansen blushed immediately, looking away but not denying the claim. “You want to be to be by her side? You want to protect this reckless fool?” Ansen stared into the viridian forest for a spell, searching for malice, but finding none. He nodded with knit brows full of affirmation. “You should have realized it by now. She is stronger than you. And she is not content to live a peaceful life. She is going to throw herself into danger over and over from now on, as she always has. You can’t protect her if you can’t even protect yourself against what this woman will drag you into… Let alone save your land.” Ansen’s fist tightened at this, but he held his tongue. She spoke the truth. “With my guidance, she will only grow stronger. I offer you the same strength, Ansen of Carilssia. I will not give it to you. I will never give you anything. Rather, you will gain it yourself. By your own hands, you will earn the power to protect what is precious to you through blood, sweat, and tears. I offer you the choice to take hold of your own Fate, at my side beneath the Emerald Banner. What say you?” Arieya spoke with passion, standing with her back straight and eyes aglow with strength as she stared down at the man and awaited his answer.

A low, annoyed hiss of air escaped Rainza’s nose. There was no dealing with rotted reason. She wouldn’t bother trying. The woman was patient; She would get her answers from the man himself. Her eyes were cold as they stared down at the panicking burden, and she wondered what she was doing here. Right, boredom. Curiosity. A request to fulfill. Perhaps with time there would come a moment of lucidity. The moment she was able to properly deliver the sword, she would be off. She sat on the bench across from Antique and manifested the object that brought her here. With an unpracticed motion, Rainza drew the blade from its scabbard. To her untrained eye, the masterwork steel was no different from any other naked blade. The overcast sky caused the slender blade to glint softly from the glow of her eyes as she examined it. Specifically, she appraised the runes engraved along its length. Carved with magic in what she easily recognized as Avvercus’ graceful script, she unfortunately could not translate them. He had attempted to give her a rudimentary education on the arcane languages, but the girl’s disinterest quickly had him abandon the venture. “How long will this journey take?” she asked in a tone that said she wouldn’t be disappointed if an answer did not come.

“Avvercus,” the swordmage replied with a gesture of his own along with a smile. Satisfied that a fight wasn’t about to break out, he reached a hand towards the Zweihander, causing the large blade to fly to his hand. The glowing sword dissipated into ghostly weaves of green mana that swirled about Avvercus, growing fainter and smaller over several seconds until most of it had disappeared. What remained had become a pair of runes that attached to his pupils, granting the mage darkvision. “She’s not used to her life being in danger. Having and Ombra try to eat her has probably affected her nerves. Worry not, I’ll help her.” Avvercus wove a finger through the still night air, tracing green patterns that formed into a simple levitation rune. He whisked it towards Abigail, causing the magic command to float around her person. Immediately, the alchemist was suspended a few feet off the ground. Her floating body followed along behind Avvercus as he turned to follow their hosts for the evening. The group re-entered the forest, and within a few short minutes at the camp. Tucked next to an old trade road, it was a simple affair. A clearing with enough room for two carts, the likes of which Avvercus had never seen before. A campfire, loaded with logs and kindling and simply waiting to be lit sat in the middle. Avvercus obliged, waving a hand towards the circle of stone and wood from where he stood at the edge of the camp. A small tornado of mana flared up around it for a brief moment. When it faded, a nice roaring campfire crackled away. Avvercus set Abigail down next to himself, letting the rune fade before turning away from her. She must be going through a lot in her head at the moment. She hated herself for being spider-esque, surely these two horrified her. He thought it was good for her, to be exposed to this, however. Humanizing what she viewed as inferior, disgusting, ect. was possibly a step towards opening her mind. “What are those?” He asked Miriam, pointing towards the carts he was unfamiliar with.

The weight of one thousand stars could not compare. Civilizations had risen and fell, ages come and gone, eras forged to be ultimately forgotten by all but ink on paper, and still his soul had carried this burden. Countless lives had flourished and fallen by Saiph’s hand; his sins and deeds were many, yet this was the only one that truly held his regret like an inescapable gravity. Yet, it was now, with so few words, words so profoundly simple, that goosebumps rippled across his skin aching with relief. In her gentle embrace, his nails dug into a back he had once kept safe at the expense of all, until the day he had abandoned it completely. Born aloft on the shoulders his tears now rolled down, Avvercus’ soul soared, finally freed from a weight one thousand stars couldn’t hope to compare to. “Raven…” He trembled He shuddered He finally smiled His sun had sank beneath the horizon once, never to be seen again. Or, so he had thought. But, the man had forgotten that beyond the moonlit sky, beyond the cold and lonely night, a new dawn was waiting. And here it was, Raveena had returned. His sun of the past had risen once again, come to brighten his days here in the bitter present. Perhaps he had not been there for her in the end, but it was his loyalty, and the valor of his brothers and sisters in the Order of Orion, that had kept her safe long enough to save herself. This thought warmed his heart even as her embrace warmed his body, and would for the rest of the night.

“Well, I’ll do my best to make up for it. I’m sure I can find some other way to make your evening exciting,” Avvercus grinned. The swordmage made no effort to ward off Isbeth’s obvious interest in him, but rather reciprocated. When Isbeth began her merry laughter, he found himself cackling along. When Abigail outright refused the invitation to dinner, had he not been laughing Avvercus would have raised an eyebrow. She would waste a perfectly good random encounter like this? It was clear as day that this was Fate’s intent, who would squander it? We should take their offer. If things go well, I can likely enlist them as guides, or at the very least learn about the locale. I’ve never traveled Genesaris like this, they would save us both time and danger in the coming days. Avvercus’ telepathy gently prodded at Abigail’s mind while he watched her exchange with Miriam. He then spoke up while approaching his charge with a reassuring gesture. “Come now, Abigail. A short rest wouldn’t hurt. Besides, we can’t eat that much meat ourselves, and I’m certain these two know how to cook Ombra better than I do,” Avvercus flashed a convincing smile. He seemed to realize something suddenly, as he preluded his next sentence with a quiet ‘Ah!’. “My name is Avvercus, a pleasure to meet the both of you,” he introduced himself, looking from one spider to the other.

The glowing jian dissipated as its master stood to his full height, absorbing back into his personal mana pool. The new voices caught his attention quickly, especially given their position. Protecting Abigail was his current mission, his only responsibility in the world. A reflex to act spiked in his chest, but discipline forced it back down. Abigail was perfectly safe, he’d made sure of that when he placed the Zweihander. His emerald eyes drifted between the two strangers, taking in their qualities carefully. They seemed to have no ill intent, so he relaxed and smiled while casually striding back towards his charge. Many would wonder at the oddity of more spider women showing up at this time, but Avvercus accepted it as part of Fate’s great chain. He pulled his long silver-gray braid over one shoulder as he approached, placing one hand on his hip and allowing the other arm to dangle loosely at his side as he stopped in front of Abigail and looked side to side at each woman. “I enjoyed the hunt, so I’m thankful you didn’t,” he replied with a cool smile to the dark-skinned arachne. He found his eyes lingering on her hair before trailing down the rest of her, appreciating the differences between this newcomer and Abigail’s physiology. However, it couldn’t be said he wasn’t appreciating something less scholarly at the same time. His gaze shifted to the other stranger, performing a similar scan of her physical attributes. He made an educated guess that between the two, the one in the red sash was likely more… Naturally dangerous, if conventional sub-species knowledge applied to their kind. “Standards are only a necessity to the prudish. It’s far more fun to keep an open mind, don’t you think?” Avvercus butted in, offering his own opinion on a conversation he felt involved him. “The ‘fair lady’ and I are simply passing through. If you wish to know more, I’m afraid you’ll have to pry it from her. I’m simply the bodyguard.” Avvercus turned to Abigail, finally acknowledging her mental state. It was clear she wasn’t used to being in danger like this. Any chance he would have had at calming her down flew away with the arrival of these two. Instead of a mundane approach, he opted for something a little more… Potent. The runemaster took one of her hands into his, giving it a reassuring, comforting squeeze that left a softly glowing rune in her palm. It was magic to calm the nerves, though it was weak in strength. It was more like an assistant that would help Abigail calm herself, rather than forcefully do it for her. “Was it simple curiosity that spurred the two of you to approach us, or something more specific?” he asked with unmasked curiosity of his own as he let go of Abigail’s hand.

The night was beautiful, and so too was the eternal cycle of life and death. Here, beneath the inky sky, that cycle could be viewed in physical form. The pair sailed across a field of swaying grass, their fight so silent the rustling blades beneath their feet was a roar in comparison. The ebb and flow of their struggle was art in motion, as though some cosmic painter was furiously plying his brush against the canvas of reality. The bright green of Man’s streaking magic was matched by the burning orange of Beast’s eyes, and in the next move one would be snuffed out for good. The Ombra was a fierce and cunning beast indeed, but she was just that: a simple beast. Her world view was narrow, her experience sparse. Avvercus was the veteran of a thousand worlds, and many more battles besides. It was a shame, but fate demanded his path continue over her fallen corpse. As the feline’s sprung paws made contact with his chest, they passed through with no purchase. Avvercus had gone ethereal, his physical form shifting into intangible mana. It was a technique available only to those whose flesh has been a conduit for the arcane often enough their very being was permanently infused with its essence, and whom have the mastery over mana to keep their form intact during this terrifying transformation. The haste rune empowering the mage burst, being consumed to give him one powerful, final dash through the Ombra’s body. As his foot planted to the left of her head, Avvercus’ being reverted to the physical. His momentum was halted completely when the Jian sheathed into the earth, passing through the Ombra’s skull and pinning it there. The artist set his brush down and took a step back to admire his work. With a self-satisfied smile, he walked away, content that his latest piece was complete. A long, easy breath eased between Avvercus’ lips as he knelt next to the beast. The fire of her candle-lit eyes went cold, and a gentle hand rolled them shut. A magnificent creature, a magical wonder. He was thankful to have encountered her, and to have experienced her majesty in person. “You fought well. Rest now.” Gentle words; words that can only be said by the victor. He felt a tingle in his calf as his body stitched its own wound, his mana turned to flesh automatically. “Abigail?” he called out, looking back to the glowing green beacon that was the sword he’d planted by her side. “It’s alright, you’re safe. The Ombra hunts no more.” And so his journey continued. Perhaps a night like this would be his last, his turn to rest. But, tonight was not it.

Silently, Rainza complied. She didn’t exactly care how they went about this. If the man’s plan failed and they were caught, it was unlikely the guards would choose to pick a fight with her. Of course, that would mean he would be associated with her and would lose some standing with the authority’s here. But, again she didn’t really care either way. The wooden cart shook beneath her boots as she hopped into it with deft movements. Unlike the unsettled woman already sitting in it, she made no complaint as she took a seat. Rainza couldn’t tell the difference between this and anything else she’d ever sat on; Comfort wasn’t a concept she was familiar with. Her shoulder rubbed up against Antique’s as the cart rumbled down the path, and the Aldrak kept her face to the wood at her feet. What an abnormal day this was turning out to be. Expressionless, Rainza waited for the guard to decide if he would harass them or not. There was no sigh of relief as the cart meandered on. In fact, the girl made no change in body language at all for the first five minutes as she pondered something. Finally, as they trundled north and left the dreary bastion known as Inns’th behind, Rainza got to her feet. Swaying at the hips and easily keeping steady on her feet, the girl stood before Antique. She was barely taller than her at the moment, despite the stranger being seated. “Avvercus.” A single word statement, punctuated by an inquisitive azure gaze. “Do you remember Avvercus?” She continued, reaching into the bosom of her leather corset and drawing out something that made an earthen clink. A dull gray, ceramic sigil dangled on a chain she held out from her neck. It looked exactly the same as the one Antique wore. The curiosity was an unscratched itch on her mind, and she would have it satisfied. Who was this person, and why were they important to him?

Silent as death and seeming to carry its scent, a weak breeze slunk by, barely swinging the Aldrak’s hair back into her face and hiding one half of the scowl that formed at Yelstadt’s dismissive reply. She was aware her childish hairstyle didn’t help the assumptions of strangers, and her refusal to change it was just as mature. The soft sound of her footsteps joined the other two as she followed. Her right hand opened and closed a few times, stretching the already healed skin on her knuckles as her eyes swiveled left to right, searching for potential threats as was her ingrained habit. If asked why she followed, the girl wouldn’t have a real answer. She had no obligations to Antique, other than handing over the sword. At the same time, she had little else to do. Her new master had taken her… had taken Ansen off somewhere for reasons unknown to her for the time being. Admittedly, she took some measure of curiosity in Antique. Not pity for her madness, but for the connection she had with Avvercus. What was she to the man? She came abreast of Yelstadt and his charge, a short but quick stride easily keeping pace with the burdened former soldier. “Why is she your responsibility?” Rainza asked, looking into the lost gaze of the woman on his shoulder. It was obvious the two had history of some sort. Perhaps even something familial. Family… Rainza shook her head, dissipating the thought. That was not something to brood on right now. She gathered her dark cloak about herself and pulled the hood up, erasing the vibrant blue from the bleak world around them. If Yelstadt was worried about being harassed by the white hand, it was best he not be seen with her. The Order and the Aldrak weren’t exactly on good terms.

As quickly as the bellows had stroked the flames, Rainza cooled down. It was an unnatural outburst, even for her. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, the girl relaxed her body language. The aggressive edge faded as she stood straight up and tucked her ruined hair behind one ear, revealing her second eye to the world at large. Taking the time to properly observe the pair before her, Rainza lowered the sword to her side and gently accepted the coin with her other hand, the one now covered in coagulating sapphire blood. It was as golden as the eyes that offered it, but not as dull. She had seen those eyes many times before in the years past. Slaves who had broken to the point of losing their mind, lost in the sweet ignorant embrace of madness. Rainza grunted, yanking the sword out of the guardian’s hand. “I will hold on to it,” the young woman rejected cooly. “I was asked to give it to her, not her escort.” The Aldrak briefly examined the coin before tucking it into her cloak. It was a thing of inky darkness, crafted from the hide of an Ombra she had killed long ago. In this dreary land of gray skies and long shadows, she found it oddly comforting to camouflage herself within. Rainza turned to Antique’s escort, giving him direct eye contact. “What happened to her? Where are you taking her? You said you are Terrenus military? Is she under arrest?” The sudden rapid questions were asked in a calm, neutral voice as the sword in her hand shone in a bright blue light for a moment before disappearing. Now free, her arms crossed over her chest. “Also, I am not a child. Say it again, and I will hit you. Again."

I've had plans to canonize a moon for a while. I shall make haste on this endeavor henceforth

Hissss, a blade leaving the scabbard The flash of naked steel “Child” The three happened in rapid succession. The first two triggered self-preservation instinct. The last was a slight on her pride. Usually, this would have lit the flame of anger in her chest and caused Rainza to become defensive. But, something new stirred. Rather than a simple candle flame, her fury exploded. The snarl and grinding teeth were the man’s only warning, as the next heartbeat after the word ‘child’, the Aldrak was already stepping in. There was no wasted movement as her foot planted in between his, and immediately a fist backed by three hundred pounds of mini martial artist crashed into the side of his cuirass. The purpose of the strike wasn’t to hurt or kill, despite the emotions fueling it. No, she was simply removing an annoying obstacle so that she could once again hold out the sword and attempt to deliver it. The commotion didn’t attract much attention. Rainza had built up a reputation for being a violent drunk here over the past couple of weeks, so none who saw it was here were surprised. Besides that, scuffles like this were all too common in this dingy bastion. “Fuck off,” she growled while lowering her bloodied knuckles. The pain of torn skin was absent, lost in her rage; or, perhaps, she’d simply grown accustomed to her fists splitting open. Her wolfish eyes turned back to Antique, and the sword was offered once again. “Take it.”

“You’ll understand in the coming months. I promise you,” his voice placated in that kind, casual tone she’d come to associate with safety. Not simply physical safety, but the kind that you could let down all of your mental and emotional walls around. A rare thing for the misanthrope, something she prized above nearly all else. “...” She stared. Drilled holes with those piercing sapphire eyes and tightly knit brows. Rebuke and angry outbursts flew through her mind, each sounding more and more childish than the next. She trusted him, knew she’d regret anything she could say. “Fine.” Curt, cold, direct. Just like the Aldrak that said it. “I have a favor to ask. You’re going to Yh’mi, right? You should meet a woman there. Golden eyes, wavy black hair. She has a sigil like the one I gave to you worn around her neck, and likewise shelters a fragment. Her name is… rather, she goes by the name Antique. I’d like you to give her this.” His request came no sooner than he had finished etching the final rune into the blade he now extended towards the Aldrak hilt first. It looked to the woman like a flimsy thing. Light, thin, a weapon for those that viewed combat like an art rather than a fight for survival. She gave it a dismissive grunt. She snatched it from his hands, and after a few moments of intense concentration it faded from sight, absorbed into her body as energy. She turned to leave, but hesitated. “I’ll…” I’ll miss you. Her pride refused to let that statement slip. No, she turned on a heel and walked away without looking back. A crisp memory. It all came rushing back at the sight of a familiar sigil bouncing against cleavage in a disheveled and dirty blouse. Rainza didn’t need to ask for a name, she knew this to be the ‘Antique’ she’d agreed without words to pass an important artifact along to. Under the eternal gray skies of Yh’mi, she marched right up to the stranger in the muddy streets of Inn’sth. She was escorted by a man who had the look of a tired parent raising their third child and wishing they had a break. With all that had happened since she arrived in this Godsforsaken land, Rainza had admittedly entirely forgotten about her promise to her former mentor. This would be a welcome distraction from the things she had on her mind at the moment. Especially the decisions she soon had to make that would impact her future in a way she was entirely uncomfortable with. Standing in the woman’s way and staring up at her with those piercing sapphire eyes, Rainza extended a pale blue hand, palm up. “Antique. Avvercus asked me to give you this. Take it.” A flash of blue light obscured her hand for an instant before fading to reveal the sword and scabbard entrusted to her care. She knew nothing about the woman she offered it to, and truth be told there was some curiosity. She knew her mentor to be a womanizer, something she hated him for, but this felt different. There was something in his eyes when he described this woman. It looked painful and longing and ashamed all at once. Emotions and uncertainty she had never seen him show the entire time she’d learned beneath his watchful gaze. Who was this, that could stir something akin to weakness in his eyes?