After the disastrous commune spell Sancha felt completely disheartened. She hadn't even realized how heavily she was relying on it's success, even though well beforehand she knew deep down it was useless. There was no earthly way she could have predicted the full scope of the disaster.

She and Asa were badly shaken when they returned to the clinic they had spent the previous night at. Weeks of culminated effort were reduced to ash in that single late afternoon. They had traveled all across the western side of the continent in desperation to try and formulate the perfect time and place for the ceremony. They begged for entry and even snuck into libraries looking the smallest mention regarding the old pantheon. A faded frontispiece in a catalog of textiles suggested a city surrounded by fields of flowers, and in the end that was the closest they got to mention of The Saint. It was a pretty ridiculous guess. They basically saw a city surrounded by flowers and went, 'well, She likes flowers,".

In fact it wasn't just ridiculoust, it was dangerous. They were really gambling by coming this close to the war but they lucked out. Days of snooping revealed the old temple, one of the few remaining original buildings after a fire some years ago. It seems that while in present times Olfyeld was nothing but a trading hub stock full of merchant's rich off investing in the war, the marshy surroundings were once fields of flowers for turning into luxury dyes and powders. At it's height it would have been bursting with ribbons and lace, flowers. All very promising signs when it came to looking for The Saint.

It could even have been the center of The Saint's worship for all Sancha knew. The only thing she was confident in now was her own ignorance and ineptitude.

She briskly walked home through the city while avoiding the dubious stares of it's citizens. Brilliantly dyed dresses sported huge bustles that swayed behind ladies who donned great feathered hats that osbscured their faces. The men wore tight fitted suits of similarly vibrant colors decorated with complex patterned lace neckcloths tied tightly below their chin. It was a strange and bizarre sight to behold, especially after having spent so long visiting refugees living in lonely hovels far from any town or city. The city dwellers aloof attitude would have grated Sancha if her thoughts weren't still so consumed with terror.

The clinic they were staying at was run by Ilya, a doctor Asa had known from their time in the Cauldron, a city far west in the deserts that doubled as the greatest medical academy in perhaps the known world. Many doctors who graduated from the Cauldron traveled the world once they passed their final exams in pursuit of further medical knowledge or to share their skill with others'. Asa's pursuit of helping those in need free of cost apparently put them in the minority, Ilya set up shop in Olfyeld knowing well and full that he could charge its' citizens more than most other places. More annoying than his obvious wealth driven motivation was his continued disbelief over why Asa provided their services for free, and the way he kept bringing it up. Sancha wasn't exactly thrilled about having to return to the clinic but any well lit enclosed space would be better than the darkening streets around them.

They entered the clinic, the small brass bell above gave a dull clang. Ilya's head poked out from behind the back store room with an exagerated smile plastered to his face. Seeing who it was he relaxed. "Oh, you two. Well I don't suppose you had any luck today either?"

Asa mutely ignored him and walked past to the side room to begin brewing tea. Sancha followed to slump herself into one of the chairs in Ilya's small dining room. It was ridiculously plush and the room as a whole looked gaudy and crowded with an assortment of ornate knick-knacks. Even the kettle Asa began to boil water with in the small tiled hearth was a bit much. A snake wrapped around it's belly, each scale glittering in the firelight.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a polished plate hanging on the wall. She looked just as haggard as she felt. The way her face warped at the detailed edges reminded her uncomfortably of the grotesque body from her vision earlier. She looked away quickly.

Ilya followed them both into the room. He had the sort of face an onlooker would wear at the scene of a carriage accident, like he was curious and was going to stick around until he got an interesting enough explanation. He may not believe in magic or the gods but he would humor the disciples tales of their adventures. Sancha could explain how magic works as best she could but in the end he'd have to take her word for it. Asa apparently had a reputation as a bit of a genius from their days in school so Asa's testimony had a bit more weight -- but in the end Sancha got the impression that Ilya was just humoring them. There was a way he looked at Asa sometimes while they were talking, something like an 'oh, how did someone so smart end up so dellusional'. A sort of pitying look. Sancha felt like her more hot-headed impulses were coming back now that the ever present feeling of love and mercy were missing from her daily life. It turns out The Saint's patronage was the only thing keeping her from going feral. She sort of wanted to throw something at Ilya, especially when he'd saying something along the lines of, "you had so much promise, it's not too late you know." or "the professors had such high hopes in you."

She was in no mood for it now. She could feel her face souring but was thankfully saved by Asa placing a brightly painted ceramic cup in front of her.

Neither of them had answered Ilya yet. "No." Asa finally said flatly.

Asa flopped down across the table from Sancha. They both stared dead-eyed off into space before Ilya scoffed. "Well, did something happen? You two look horrible."

"If we said we almost accidentally summoned some evil creature in the old temple downtown, would you believe us?" Sancha asked.

Ilya ignored the tone and looked off thoughtfully. "That new indoor market?! No- and I can't believe they even let you two in there." He said honestly.

Sancha slumped her head into her hands. "If you don't mind me asking, what are your plans now?" Ilya pressed.

They sat in silence. "I don't know." Sancha said. The terror was finally subsiding, but exhaustion was quickly taking its place.

"We can't stay here for long. The empire could show up any time," Sancha gestured down to her robes, "and we're still very much illegal heretics."

"Well are you? I mean, didn't you say that your god was missing? If you can't find them or whatever it is you're doing, you could just go back to being er, normal. Go back to being non heretics I mean. I can't speak for you-but Asa," he said turning to look at them, "The Cauldron will always have a place for you. You could practice medicine anywhere you wanted-"

"Oh, then could I work here with you?" Asa asked sarcastically.

Ilya fumbled a bit and at least had the good sense to turn red with embarrassment. "Ah- well... I mean it's a small clinic I don't know..."

"You shouldn't stay here either." Sancha interjected to stop Ilya from digging himself an even deeper grave. "Not unless you want to get pushed to the front-lines as a war physician."

"It depends what they do with the city. Who knows, it does have value as a trading center. If they don't turn completely flip it into a fort I don't mind staying. Warbound, Olfyeld's rich, whoever. They're all the same as long as they pay-."

"The empire will not pay you. Your services and knowledge will belong to the empire by default. This," Sancha said gesturing around to the cluttered metallic decor hanging about the wall, "will be taken and melted down for weapons and scaffolding. You will be sent to where you're most needed, some siege or battle. You will sleep on hard pallets in tents that don't keep you warm or dry, and each morning when you wake up before the sun has even risen to tend the wounded you'll know that they'd sooner off you then give you one extra blanket at night. They have plenty of their own doctors, you'll be completely dispensable."

She sat letting the uncomfortable silence ring throughout the room. Asa just sipped their tea looking more than slightly miffed at the entire situation in general.

It continued for a while. Ilya shifted their weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Well, uh. Then that's right then! I guess I will be moving along eventually, hmm?" Ilya said finally.

They didn't say much to each other for the rest of the night. Ilya retreated to give Sancha and Asa some space so they could sit in quiet frustration before the two eventually retired for the night. Ilya gathered that they weren't in a conversing mood, and honestly they were too tired to even talk with each other. Sancha couldn't bring herself to recount anything that she had seen. She felt like if she even thought about the monster it would summon it somehow.

Later, in the much more modestly decorated sick room the two were staying in, they retired to their cots. The candle between them was left burning to keep away the dark before they eventually fell into an uneasy slumber.

It took a few days for them to recoup. With no other options they scoured the city for anything they could have missed. They had left such a mess in the attic they weren't allowed back into the temple, which greatly frustrated Sancha as that was their one solid lead. The building's owner couldn't even begin to parse how they had made such an awful mess and when she pressed them on reentry they both got quite the earful.

They would have left the city immediately after, but Sancha had trouble completely shaking the strange foreboding feeling that continued to sit in her gut. The night following the botched spell she had tossed and turned fitfully enough that Asa ended up waking her up to see what was wrong. She had gone feverish, and the entire next day she sported something like a bad hangover as then went about their rounds. She was wracked with chills and her body had ached all over.

Three days later she finally felt better physically but an entirely new problem brought a sickening sense of foreboding.

"You were right. There is absolutely no way I'm staying." Ilya was loading up a cart bursting to the brim with a tower of his metal furnishings, box upon box of medicines and vials teetering dangerously on top of the pile. It was late morning and the sun just began to peak above the city's wall casting their street in a golden glow. Up and down the road revealed several other families out and loading up carts as well. But perhaps not enough.

Sancha and Asa had woken up to Ilya's sudden change of heart to find out that they had taken too long. In a stroke of bad luck the empires occupation was quickly approaching. Ilya looked over his cart worriedly, "this won't be nearly enough." he muttered. With a snap of his fingers he looked towards Sancha and Asa. "I'm getting another cart! I suggest you two get out of here and," he gave them a quick look up and down at the robes they still wore," for the gods sake, change into something else! You don't want to get caught in those!"

Sancha watched Ilya scamper off and turned towards Asa. They were staring her down evenly. With a great sigh she knew the natural next move for the both of them.

"You should go home to the Cauldron."

"We should leave, together. At least we'll have eachother."

They ended up speaking in unison over eachother. Sancha let out a tired laugh but Asa huffed.

"Absolutely not am I returning to the Cauldron. And if I were - which I reiterate I am not doing - I would be dragging you with me!"

"We've sulked around for days Asa! We have no idea what to do next! You at least could have a future there, I can figure something out on my own."

Sancha was taken aback by how angry Asa grew. "We are in this together! I know She is gone. The Saint. But I know you want to keep doing her work just as much as I do. You're all I have, just like I'm all you have. Make no doubts about it but you're stuck with me!"

Sancha's breath caught in her throat and she had to avoid Asa's fierce gaze. She was moved, embarrassed, and a little awed. Meeting their gaze again she pulled Asa into a stiff hug and held them there.

"Not to sound like a complete sap but you're the first real and true friend I have ever had. I'm not leaving." Asa said, muffled through Sancha's robes. Sancha gave them a pat on their back. "Also thank you for the Sancha hug. It's been a while." They said in a mock tearful voice that had an edge of real emotion.

"Alright. Alright! It was just a suggestion. I won't send you off to get your pants all full of sand in the desert." she consoled. "But it was nice to hear all of that."

She unwrapped her arms from around them and stepped back.

"I just don't know what else to do. You're right. I want to continue doing the work we've always done...it's just a bit more complicated now that we don't have the boss telling us what to do..." she sighed.

"And that doesn't even cover the imminent damn invasion of this stupid city." She added quickly in a huff.

"We should start off by running away now while we can. It's just the two of us, we can slip out carefully before we get, you know. Caught and...such." Asa suggested.

And such was right. They really should change their clothes. It was no joke, the heretical worship of anyone who was not The Warmaiden would mean instant execution. The empire's occupation of the city would hugely change the lives of every citizen within. Their wealth would be stripped away and redistributed to the empire. Young children would be conscripted to the academies for military training. Families would be put to work in the fields. Anyone who tried to run or protest would be killed.

Just as The Saint's spells could draw her power from candle, flower, and fabric, The Warmaiden's symbols were that of blood, bone, and cold steel. She draws power from the death and violence inflicted on others and the act of sword hitting sword. The executions of the empire's enemies, fearful refugees included, would just fuel The Warmaiden's armies even more. In fact, nothing even promised the Warbound soldiers wouldn't just raze the city to the ground. The mass casualties of a massacre would generate huge amounts of magic, one awful sacrifice for their bloodthirsty god.

The pampered citizens could kiss the ground, submit themselves, and even bribe fore their lives. It would mean nothing.

Sancha hated the cowardice that filled her in the face of the empire. She wished she could help the citizens in some real way but the reality was she was helpless in the face of The Warmaiden and Her army. She wouldn't be able to help anyone ever again if she tried to stay here and fight back. It was a surefire way to get killed.

"Right. and so we run." Sancha sighed.