The walk to the cathedral was longer than Nyra remembered.
She and Tar moved in silence through streets that felt like the inside of a wound. Bodies lay where they had fallen — some in doorways, some in the middle of the road, some curled against walls in postures that suggested they'd been trying to hide when death found them. The blood had stopped flowing, but it hadn't dried. It pooled in the gutters, dark and still, reflecting the distant glow of fires that still burned somewhere in the lower districts.
Tar limped beside her, his head low, his single eye fixed on the ground ahead.
Nyra didn't try to fill the quiet. She walked with her axe resting on her shoulder, the bone-white blade still streaked with the blood of the man who had called her little shadow. Her brother's name echoed in her skull. Her brother's voice, speaking a name only he had ever used. Her brother's bones, shaped into the weapon she was holding right now.
She didn't know what to do with any of it.
They passed a woman kneeling beside a body — her husband, maybe, or her son. She wasn't crying. She was just kneeling, one hand on the dead man's chest, staring at nothing. A few streets later, a child sat on the steps of a collapsed building, his knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes wide and empty. He didn't look up as they passed. He didn't seem to see them at all.
The bodies grew fewer as they climbed toward the cathedral district. The barricades had held here — Nyra could see the signs of fighting, the broken spears and scattered arrows, but the dead had been pulled to the side of the road and covered with whatever cloth the survivors had been able to find. Tarps. Curtains. A torn banner bearing the sigil of the Church of the Three, now stained with blood.
Guards stood at the barricade. They recognized Nyra and parted without question. One of them, a young woman with a bandage wrapped around her head, gestured toward the cathedral.
" The Hero of Will is in surgery. The Hero of Skill's inside. He's been asking for you."
Nyra nodded and kept walking.
The cathedral doors stood open, spilling light across the steps. Inside, the air was thick with incense and blood and the low murmur of voices. The main hall had been converted into a triage centre — rows of cots and makeshift beds stretching from the entrance all the way to the altar. Healers in Church robes moved between them, their hands glowing with pale light, their faces drawn with exhaustion. Some of the wounded were soldiers. Most were civilians. A woman near the door was clutching a child to her chest, both wrapped in the same bloodstained blanket, both breathing.
Near the altar, Luken lay on a makeshift operating table, surrounded by a tight cluster of healers. And at the centre of it all, her hands pressed directly to the wound in his stomach, was Rikia.
Her face was sheened with sweat. Her blonde hair had come loose from its tie and was plastered to her temples in damp strands. Her green eyes were fixed on the wound beneath her palms, her lips moving in a steady stream of prayer or incantation. The glow around her hands was brighter than any of the other healers', a pale gold light that seemed to sink into Luken's torn flesh like water into dry earth.
Nyra stood at the edge of the operating area and watched. Tar turned away, following a young healer's gesture toward the back of the cathedral where the deep tissue wounds were being treated. Nyra stayed where she was for a long moment, watching Rikia work, watching Luken's chest rise and fall, watching the horn on his temple catch the candlelight. Then she turned and found Valen near the front of the hall.
His leg was propped up on a crate, wrapped in clean bandages. His shirt had been cut away to expose the dressings on his ribs and shoulder — a dozen small wounds where the needles had gone in. His face was pale, the lines around his eyes deeper than they'd been this morning. But he was awake. And when he saw her, he managed something that was almost a grin.
"You look like shit."
"So do you." Nyra lowered herself onto the bench beside him. "Luken?"
"Surgery. Rikia's been working on him since he came in. She hasn't stopped. Barely even looks up." Valen's voice was hoarse. "He stopped breathing twice on the way here. Thal held him together with his bare hands."
"Thal's gone. Alinda and Neo are still out there. He went to find them."
"I know. Elira told me." He shifted, wincing. "He came out of nowhere. Landed on the rooftop above us like something out of a myth. I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life."
Nyra didn't answer. She was looking at the altar, where Rikia was still bent over Luken's body, her hands still glowing, her face still set with that fierce, exhausted concentration.
Elira appeared at the end of the bench. She looked exhausted — the kind of exhausted that went past sleep and into something closer to collapse — but her voice was steady. "Luken's still in surgery. Rikia hasn't stopped."
Elira followed her gaze toward the altar. "She's been doing that all night. Before Luken came in, she was working on a woman whose legs were crushed. Before that, a guard with a chest wound. Before that, a child with internal bleeding." She paused. "I don't think she's stopped since the screaming started."
Valen shifted on the bench. "That's not sustainable."
"No. But she's still standing." Elira watched Rikia's hands move. "The Church is crazy, you know. Their faith. Their rules. The way they think the Three are watching everything and judging everyone." She let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. "But their faith might be the only thing keeping this city together right now. It's all some of these healers have. Belief that what they're doing matters. That someone is watching. That it means something."
Nyra didn't answer. She was watching Rikia's hands.
"When Thal carried Luken in," Elira continued, "some of the healers wanted to refuse treatment. They saw the horn and they were afraid. They thought he was Kruul. They thought helping him was a sin." She shook her head. "Rikia didn't even look up. She just moved the patient she was working on to another healer and started on Luken. Didn't ask about the horn. Didn't ask what he was. Just saw someone dying and went to work. She hasn't stopped since."
"She's the one from the infirmary," Nyra said. "When the sickness first started. She was there when Thal came through."
"I know. She told me." Elira's eye was still on the altar. "She said the giant walked through her infirmary like he was tracking something. Wouldn't answer questions. Wouldn't explain. Just looked at the patients and left." She paused. "She's been wondering about him ever since. What he is. What he was looking for."
"And now?"
"Now she's too tired to wonder. She's just working." Elira turned away from the altar. "I need to check the barricades. I'll send word if anything changes."
She walked toward the entrance, her glaive striking the stone in a steady rhythm. Nyra watched her go, then looked back at the altar, where Rikia was still working, still glowing.
"You know," Valen said quietly, "I spent years thinking the Church was just politics and gold. Sermons designed to keep people quiet and donations flowing." He paused. "But that woman hasn't stopped working since the screaming started. She's not doing it for coin. She's not doing it for the High Canon. She's doing it because she believes it's the right thing to do."
"Maybe that's enough," Nyra said.
"Maybe." Valen shifted, wincing. "Still think they're crazy, though."
"Probably."
They sat together in the silence, watching Rikia work, waiting for Luken to come out of surgery, waiting for Thal to come back with Alinda and Neo.
"The man in white," Valen said quietly. "He said things to us. Before he stabbed Luken."
"What kind of things?"
"He knew about Luken's Node. About the horn. He told Luken he was holding back. That he thought if he hid what he was, it would go away." Valen paused. "He knew things about me, too. My family. My mother. Eddena. Rose. Things I've never told anyone. He just... said their names. Like he was reading from a page."
Nyra was silent. She knew those names. She'd been there, eight years ago, when Valen was broken in a ruined hut with nothing left.
"He said he was testing us," Valen continued. "Seeing what we'd do. And then after he stabbed Luken, after he threw me into a wall, he just stood there and said he expected more. From the Triad. That was it. No explanation. Just those words and then he was gone."
"He did the same to me," Nyra said. "He called me little shadow. That was my brother's name for me. Only my brother ever called me that. He knew things about Jal — about how he died. He said Thal has been keeping secrets about the village. He didn't tell me what secrets. He just said to ask Thal."
Valen turned his head to look at her. "Do you believe him?"
"I don't know. He knew things he shouldn't have known. But he also spent half the night killing people." She paused. "When Thal showed up, the man said something else. He said 'our blood, our village, our debt to collect.' Like whatever he's doing, he thinks it's justified."
"And Thal?"
"Thal tried to kill him. The man held his own. Before he left, he said something about permission. About Thal giving permission to something. I don't know what it meant."
Valen was quiet for a moment. "When Thal carried us here, he didn't ask about the horn. He didn't flinch. He just wrapped his tunic around Luken's waist and told the healers it didn't matter." He shifted on the bench. "I've known Thal for eight years. He's saved my life more times than I can count. But I don't know what he is. I don't think any of us do."
Nyra didn't answer. She was looking at the altar, where the candles were still burning.
"When this is over," she said, "we ask him. All of us. About the village. About the man in white. About what he's been keeping from us."
"And if he doesn't answer?"
"Then we ask again." She met Valen's eyes. "He raised me. He saved Luken's life tonight. I'm not accusing him of anything. But I deserve to know what happened to my family."
Valen nodded slowly. "Yeah. You do."
They sat together in the silence, watching Rikia work, waiting for Luken to come out of surgery, waiting for Thal to come back, waiting for the night to end.
The hour passed slowly. Tar returned from the healer with his shoulder bandaged and a grudging rumble of approval for the woman's work. Valen dozed, his head resting against the armrest, his injured leg twitching every few minutes as if his body was still fighting. Nyra sat beside him, awake, watching Rikia finish her work, watching the other healers move Luken to a cot in one of the side chapels.
When Rikia finally stepped away from the altar, her robes were soaked with sweat and her hands were trembling. She walked past Nyra without seeing her, heading toward the back of the cathedral where the healers had set up a rest area. She didn't make it. She stopped halfway, leaned against a column, and closed her eyes.
A young cleric approached the bench where Nyra sat. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, his robes too large for him, his face pale with exhaustion. " The Hero of Will is stable. He lost a lot of blood, but Rikia says he'll live. He won't wake for a few hours yet, but he's out of danger."
Nyra nodded. "Thank you."
The cleric hesitated. "The horn," he said. "Some of the others didn't want to touch him. They knew who he was — everyone knows the Triad — but the horn..." He trailed off. "Rikia told them to be quiet and work."
"She's good at that."
"She's terrifying." The cleric almost smiled. "But she's right. He's one of the Three. He saved this city. Horn or no horn." He paused. "I just thought you should know. That not all of us were afraid."
Nyra looked at him — at the too-large robes, at the exhaustion in his young face. "Thank you," she said again.
The cleric nodded and retreated toward the altar.
Nyra looked at the side chapel where Luken lay, still and pale, the horn dark against the pillow. He was alive. That was enough for now.
When she walked back through the main hall, Rikia was still leaning against her column. Her eyes were open now, watching the wounded with the hollow stare of someone who had given everything she had and was running on nothing. Nyra stopped beside her.
"Luken," Rikia said. Her voice was raw. "He's going to live."
"I know. Thank you."
Rikia shook her head. "Don't thank me. The giant — Thal — he told the healers the horn didn't matter. Some of them wanted to refuse. They were afraid of what he was." She paused. "I wasn't afraid. I just saw someone dying."
Nyra looked at her. "You never asked about the horn. Why?"
Rikia met her eyes. "He's the Hero of Will. He's saved more lives than I can count. What he looks like doesn't change what he's done." She paused. "And it's not my business. He's my patient. That's all that matters."
Nyra held her gaze for a long moment. Then she nodded. "You should still rest."
"I can't." Rikia said it without pride or self-pity. Just a fact. "There are still more coming in. I know I can't do what you do. I can't fight. I can't stand against the things out there. But I can heal." She looked at Nyra, and her green eyes were steady despite the exhaustion. "This is my fight. The only one I have... I can rest when it stops."
Nyra didn't argue. She'd said the same thing to herself a hundred times. "Thank you. For him. For all of them."
Rikia pushed herself off the column. Her legs held. She didn't look back as she walked toward the altar, toward the next patient, toward the work that never stopped.
Nyra watched her go, then returned to the bench where Valen was dozing and the candles were still burning.
She sat down. She waited. The night wasn't over yet.