“How can you be certain?” Ellory asked with a hushed voice as his boggling eyes locked back onto the outcast’s glacier-blue stare. His mind briefly returned to that night many years ago, when he was ejected from the Langford family home, and had been mistreated by soldiers and city guards on his way to the backstreets. “What if he’s come for—”

“He was tall and broad like an old ironwood tree. His short, dark hair had little specks of gray in it, and the man had bright green eyes with little creases at the corners,” Khazmine said back to the child to calm him. Ellory’s expression softened as the outcast continued. “The man had black armor with silver decorations and red trim, but no helmet. There were two fiery, dark red suns on his chest plate, yes?”

Ellory nodded enthusiastically at how accurate Khazmine’s description had been. The outcast grinned with a faint smile which assured the fretful fetch-and-carry that she knew this soldier well enough not to be afraid of him. A welcome sense of relief washed over the servant boy and Ellory unclenched his white-knuckled fists until color to returned to his hands. Whoever the man in black armor was, Khazmine appeared unconcerned for their safety, which was enough at present for the young Langford boy to relax.

“I know that man, little one. He’s a soldier from the Solanai Order,” Khazmine explained. “He’s one of the people who rescued me off the streets. I imagine he’s upset that I came here with Pavo without informing him, that’s all.”

Pavocinis stirred weakly on his hospital bed, drawing the interest of Ellory and Khazmine. His little body had absorbed the majority of liquid from the vessel containing the bluish-black Guardian Stone crystal, much to the outcast’s surprise. Khazmine hobbled over to his bedside as best as she could, considering that her ether and energy were still desperately low. Pavo’s breathing was much improved, without a hint of wheezing, and there was no cough to disturb the sleeping southerner. Khazmine couldn’t help but stifle a pursed-lipped smile at having saved him with the marquis’s help.

“Is he a friend of yours, miss?” Ellory asked, not seeing any physical resemblance between the two outcasts.

“My little brother,” Khazmine corrected without a hint of hesitation this time. Just as Aranthus had done before her, the outcast had filled Pavo’s ether core with ambient magic, casting from flesh to keep him alive. Such a display of devotion was almost exclusively reserved for family members, and Khazmine smiled wistfully at having accepted the two outcasts as her kin.

A feeling of deep belonging flooded Khazmine’s body, accompanied by a warm sensation the reminded the outcast of comfort and peace. It had been many years since the half-breed had experienced the simultaneous tranquility and anxiety associated with having to look out for one’s family. Despite the conflicting feelings, Khazmine decided that the whole venture was well worth the risk, if nothing else than for having saved the two outcast children from rotting away in the Forbidden Ruins.

I’d almost forgotten… Khazmine ran her index finger through little Pavo’s hair as she thought to herself. The Forbidden Ruins, the Guardian Stone, all the soldiers and Star Guards traipsing around out there… And what does the marquis want to know about the ruins?

Khazmine’s chain of thought was broken at the sounds of agitated bickering coming from the entryway of Banebury Hall. A pair of voices overlapped each other; one was hot-tempered and riled, the other cool and collected. The outcast didn’t need ether spikes to tell which one belonged to which party. It did, however, force Khazmine to wonder—would ether spikes even register from an Augment?

“And I said I DON’T CARE!” Jaycen’s voice overtook Banebury’s protests and he roared from behind the closed chamber door. “Khazmine and Pavo are coming back with me RIGHT NOW, or so help me, I’ll—”

“Marquis? What’s going on out here?” Khazmine asked innocently, as if she weren’t just listening intently to the two clashing forces. “I heard someone yelling. Is everything okay?”

“Khazmine!” Jaycen practically shouted at seeing the outcast arrive. She was limping and weak, favoring one leg over the other. Jaycen closed the distance between them to get a better look at her. He was half tempted to send an ether spike at Khazmine on impulse, but refrained after remembering her displeasure at the idea. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“I am better now, thanks to the marquis’s help,” Khazmine replied, mostly to remind Jaycen that they were not alone. The Solanai warrior had turned his back on the Augment, and his attention was exclusively fixed on the Deceiver.

“What happened? Why are you—?” Jaycen started to ask.

In response, Khazmine lifted the remains of her tattered shirt high enough to expose the patched up wound on her back. The marquis’s luminescent healer’s tape glowed faintly where it wrapped around the outcast’s pale-lilac skin. Unlike Rida’s tape, however, this dressing was translucent enough to see through, causing Jaycen to blanch at the sight of torn flesh beneath.

“And before you say anything, it was Pavo’s doing. An accident,” Khazmine insisted. “I caught an ether slash in the back on my way here, nothing more. Master Banebury here took care of us.”

Jaycen’s expression hardened; his eyes narrowed into an accusing squint, and brows tensed to match his raised shoulders as he turned to face the false marquis. The Solanai’s stare bore into the Augment, casting a harsh green gaze of suspicion rather than envy. “And how is Pavo? Is he—?”

“Recovering,” Banebury chimed in. “He’s receiving the very best of care—”

“I asked Khazmine,” Jaycen snapped.

“Hey, this man saved Pavo!” Khazmine cut in, pointing directly at the marquis and backing his involvement in the outcast’s scheme. “He risked a lot to get Pavo care, so don’t snap at him.”

Something was different about Khazmine as she spoke to her superior, he could feel it. The outcast glared back at the Solanai defiantly, without a hint of fear, just like one of his soldiers defending the downtrodden. Banebury, too, was taken aback by Khazmine’s assertion, and a hint of a smile crept onto his face.

She called me a man just then. Banebury’s plates twitched gently around the corners of his mouth, an involuntary response at being acknowledged as person again. The Augment had almost forgotten the feeling of validation, the reminder that he was still a man, regardless of what form he took.

“If he’s taking such great care of you both,” Jaycen countered, “then how come you can barely stand up, hmm?”

Khazmine broke eye contact first and cast her gaze to the floor. “It was a team effort…”

The lieutenant’s eyes boggled gently as Khazmine’s words sunk in. Jaycen himself had taught the outcast how to channel magic to restore an ether core, but he hadn’t considered that Khazmine might try to help Pavo with the same skill. Nor had he thought that the outcast would cast from flesh in the attempt. But the evidence of both was shambling directly in front of him, her legs buckling from the prolonged effort of standing upright.

Was it anger or disappointment that flushed Jaycen’s cheeks in that moment? He couldn’t say with certainty. Regardless, Khazmine had bonded herself to Pavocinis through the sharing of magic, and the Solanai warrior clenched his teeth at the outcast’s choice—Pavo was now truly her family.

“So be it…” Jaycen replied through an intense frown. “Go and collect Pavo. We’re leaving.”

“What? No!” Khazmine shook her head and motioned to block the chamber doorway with her frail body. “Pavo’s still weak, and I can’t make it that far.”

“Then I’ll carry both of you.” Jaycen stepped forward, undeterred.

Marquis Banebury watched as Khazmine pled her case to the Solanai, and calculated whether he could defend the outcast without suffering terminal damage at the angry soldier’s hands. Though the pair weren’t related, the false marquis couldn’t help but see Khazmine as an echo of his long-dead elder daughter in his mind’s eye. The resemblance of spirit was uncanny.

“I could order you to return…” Jaycen threatened, grabbing Khazmine by the wrist. “Or I could drag you out of here, kicking and screaming…”

The look on Khazmine’s face sent a shiver down Jaycen’s spine. The veneer of friendship stripped away from her expression, leaving an icy violence to the outcast’s glare.

“And if Pavo dies, I will hate you forever,” the outcast growled.

D*mn her stubborn, foolish… Jaycen sneered. Rida had warned of the marquis’s strangeness, and informed Jaycen that there was something weird going on at Banebury Hall, but Khazmine was still resisting his orders.

The Solanai warrior scowled before turning to Marquis Banebury. “Where is Pavo? I’m taking him home, with or without your cooperation.”

Marquis Banebury gave Khazmine a quick glance as she permitted his entry to the recovery room. A faint, high frequency noise tickled the outcast’s ear as her eyes met the Augment’s. Jaycen spotted the strange interaction between the pair, but his human ears weren’t sensitive enough to pick up the brief messages sent to Khazmine from Banebury’s communications node. Without another word, the Augment slipped into the recovery area to retrieve the sleeping Pavo.

Still held in Jaycen’s insistent grasp, Khazmine glanced up at a mechanical timekeeper in the extravagant entryway, which helped her estimate the hour. It was late, likely full-dark by now, and Khazmine dreaded the long walk home to Cheapside. Marquis Banebury took his time to collect Pavo, and returned to the entryway after a sizeable wait.

The false marquis carried Pavocinis in the crook of one arm and leaned on his wooden cane with his free hand. A somber mood hung in the air as Jaycen took custody of the tiny outcast with both hands, and Khazmine managed to nod at the Augment to consent to his silent plan.

“He will be tired and weak for several days, miss,” Banebury explained as he turned to face Khazmine. The marquis's body obscured his actions as he produced the silver swarmstinger device from a leather holster concealed under his robe. In the blink on an eye, the outcast winced from the device’s sting in the palm of her hand. “You’ll need to keep a close eye on him, understand?”

“Of course,” Khazmine replied with smiling eyes to hide her growing discomfort. “Thank you for everything.”

Sensing some sort of trickery but unable to pinpoint it, Jaycen reached out to open the front door and make a hasty retreat. With Pavo nestled in his armored embrace, Khazmine followed the lieutenant willingly, if only to keep an eye on her little brother. The outcast didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to the marquis before the Solanai trudged away at a grueling speed.

“P-please, slow down,” Khazmine wheezed as she struggled to keep up with the still-annoyed warrior. “I can’t go any f-faster…”

Jaycen paused right outside the white Holloworth gates for the outcast to catch up. He’d forgotten how weak and injured Khazmine was, and had instead channeled his frustration into getting home well before daybreak. Seeing Khazmine shamble through the gateway, pale and sweating, the Solanai unclenched his jaw and waited patiently.

“I thought *huff* you said you would carry me,” Khazmine teased, trying to get a rise out of her commanding officer.

“I’m still mad, you know,” Jaycen countered. The outcast trudged closer to the waiting Solanai as a shadowy figure echoed her movements ahead in the distance. “And poor Rida was beside himself with worry…”

“I’m sorry, sir, truly,” Khazmine said as she reclaimed her lost breaths. “But this was our best chance, and—”

Out from the shadows lurked a doddering old woman, whose features were obscured by swaths of wiry gray hair. Khazmine squinted to get a better look at her, until a subtle chill ran down her arms. Luckily for her, Banebury’s strange elixir had finally begun to take effect.

“Ah, looks like another Doomsayer wandered in from The Dregs,” Jaycen muttered. “Don’t pay her any mind; they stray into Cheapside every now and again. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Hairs on Khazmine’s neck stood on end, accompanied by a fearsome trembling that rattled her whole body. Narrowed pupils dilated to take in as much information as possible, homing in on the Doomsayer’s contorted expression. Ancient worry lines etched deep trenches into her saggy skin, and something piercingly dark stained the divots of her face. Under pale moonlight, the old woman teetered into view, her mottled skin a patchwork of boils, scars, and disease. This woman wasn’t just injured.

She’s sick…

The outcast inhaled sharply, only to find that her throat had narrowed in abject terror. A ghostly whisper from Khazmine’s choir broadcast words of warning to the jittery half-breed.

RUNNN… FLEEE…

“W-we should go…” Khazmine whispered as her shaky hand urgently pressed against Jaycen’s gauntlet. “There’s something wrong with that woman.”

It was no sooner than the sickly old woman began a bout of wretched, painful coughing than the air filled with the calamitous cacophony of cathedral bells. As if deliberately overshadowing the Doomsayer woman’s ghastly hacking, the chimes from the horrendously loud bronze bells echoed for miles around.

Hours before even the earliest mass, the Grand Cathedral implored that parishioners rouse, rally, and pray…