"A Seer's name is a gift of their lineage, a legacy passed onto them. From the appearance of the first Seer, of Kalopael, throughout the ages, more names would be added to this most holy order. Inscribed in the sacred texts of the Citadel, visage committed to stonework statues and artistic renditions alike, they would become immortal within the annals of history. Seers that played a part in great turning points of mankind or performed feats of miracle were granted the honors of being known easily by name in the hearts and minds of the people. To be remembered in such a manner, to be known ages after their deaths, was a sacred honor beyond measure.

As Seers then individually rose even above the rest of their Divine kin through deeds, a tradition was forged during what would later be known as the Age of Flourishing Boughs and last into the modern era. Newly born infants with Blessed Blood, when brought to the Citadel are given a new name. Important is the true date of their birth, for it will determine which sainted Seer's name they will inherit.

It is then upon the Seer, to devote their lives to measure up to or even surpass their ancestors in fulfillment of their duty to mankind."

-Chronicles of the Ascended, Children of the Divine

There was something quite enchanting about how the sunlight filtered through those tall, stained glass windows and into the common area of the Citadel. The patterns laid across the white marble of the floors in a scattering of color. Ayleth watched quietly as a few of the youngest among the fledgling Seers sat on the floor, parchment outspread as they tried to trace and replicate the patterns cast by the artfully made stained glass. It was an innocent pleasure, squiggling lines carefully made in an attempt to copy what the sunlight projected. If Ayleth had to guess, it was likely more fun than learning to write their letters properly on that same parchment. Even the most simple indulgence was an indulgence all the same.

Ayleth herself was seated on one of the stone benches, flanked by a pair of young girls. One of them was carefully running a brush through Ayleth's dark hair, the other had since coiled up part of it and was attempting to affix a decorative comb into it. This took much concentration, Ayelth was sure, so she did her best to remain still for them. Truly, not a difficult task when one knew how long meditations often lasted for a novice. There was a momentary triumph on the girl's face as the hair comb stayed put.

It was short lived, however.

"It's crooked." The comment came from Signe. Fair skinned but with raven hair, the girl made a face at her companion from above Ayleth's head. She paused her careful brushing in order to point. "See? Look, it's falling."

A huff of breath. "Is not, you're just looking at it crooked." Vidar retorted. Her own hair was like copper, but her complexion was deep brown. "You're just mad I'm faster than you."

Signe stuck her tongue out at her, then turned attention back to slowly brushing Ayleth's hair, but not before muttering under her breath.

"Crooked."

Ayleth fought not to snicker, and thankfully succeeded. Vidar however, heard her friend's remark and made a whining sound, shaking at Ayleth's shoulder with one small hand. Lips pursed in a pout, brow knit in frustration, she looked at the novice.

"Ayleth, it's not, is it?" Vidar looked at her, pleading. "Tell her."

Gently, Ayleth lifted the hand mirror she'd been holding in her lap. It was a small thing, silver with ivy leaves inlaid on the back, surrounding an amber colored gemstone. Discreetly, she tilted it to get a good look at Vidar's handiwork. It was a bit crooked, the way her hair was coiled and twisted in an attempt at the ornate hairstyles of the older Seers. She looked pensive, furrowing her brow, really examining her hair. The pair of girls waited, watching her in anticipation.

As Ayleth gently placed the mirror back on her lap, she smiled serenely.

"It's perfectly straight, dear heart."

The glee on Vidar's face was an expression Ayleth caught out of the corner of her eye, just as endearing to her as the puffed-up-cheeks look on Signe's. One day, Signe would learn it was of no harm to simply be kind. A small, inconsequential white lie was a lie without the teeth to bring a painful sting.

If anything, it quieted the girls as each turned their focus back to toying with Ayleth's hair. She didn't mind it, not at all. In truth, Ayleth enjoyed spending time with the fledglings, they were so honest and could be quite sweet when they wanted to be. Distantly, though, Ayleth had to wonder if her desire as of late to spend time with them had anything to do with the children she and Pyrede had walked away from on the road. Certainly they had saved their lives but the fact of it was, she may never quite know if that was a mercy or a curse.

Perhaps it was not for her to know. Perhaps the knowledge of their fates was something best left for the Ascended to oversee.

As much as Ayleth knew it would do her no good to dwell, to think on things over which she had no control, the thoughts lingered. Fate was capricious, it was little else but that self same 'Divine' fate that had meant those children traveled a hard road, suffering loss and pain. The same fate that had them struggling, while the two alongside her enjoyed toying with her hair without a single worry all within the same fortnight. The more she tried to have it make sense to her, the more tangled up it became.

Again, her thoughts drifted.

When she and Pyrede had left on their mission, they'd been in high spirits. She could recall the palpable excitement, even on Pyrede's usually serious face. The giddiness, mixed with anxiety was not something either of them could truly hide from one another. The task had been explained as 'scouting' but the unsaid part remained. Any resistance, any violence turned toward themselves or common folk was to be answered swiftly and in kind. It had been exciting to leave the Citadel, to cross through the Capital under the cover of night. To step outside the walls of Aiseryn and out into the world they had only known from reports or from increasingly outdated books.

Unarmed, this was a test as much as it was a task assigned by the Voice of the Ascended on behalf of the Council. Skillful use of their incantations of the body had given them the ability to traverse miles without pause. As much as she'd been overwhelmed with excitement over their journey, the pair of them lightheartedly spoke of the exhilarating feeling of being out of the Citadel as well. Coming across common folk traveling the same dusty roads or the stares from the small settlements they stopped in briefly for supplies along the way, it was all so new. There had been humble offers of lodging, or refuge, but gallantly, the pair gently refused it.

The journey, the mission, it was a test and to depend on the common folk would be dishonest. If they were to succeed, it would be purely on their own merits.

As the excitement wore off bit by bit, days on the road and the weariness of travel, they were more focused. It wasn't until they'd come across the first signs of unease, that it sunk in properly. It was something to be told that there had been attacks on the outer settlements, it was another thing entirely to see it first hand. The eerie quiet had struck Ayleth first, there were no voices to be heard, no random bustling of footfalls or even the sound of livestock. Passing the threshold of the small village, the scent had hit her despite the covering of her facemask. It smelled of the fires that had long since smoldered to ashes, but beneath it was a stench on the wind, the putrid aroma of decay.

It was of death, of bodies left to rot in the sun, a scent that would be unforgettable.

Ayleth remembered standing there, at the edge of the village, taking in the entire scene. She felt a chill up her spine but it was quickly smothered by the anger that began to bubble up in the pit of her chest. That a place so humble, with little wealth to speak of, had been destroyed and its occupants put to the sword felt like something inconceivable. While she had felt herself trembling, unable to move in that mix of disgust and anger and sorrow all at once, Pyrede had grasped her hand. For her sake, perhaps, he did not look at her, he stared forward, still as a statue and solemn as the grave. He held onto her hand, tightly, securely, as if anchoring her, letting her feel balanced and as though she were still in control of herself.

With a slow, stabilizing breath, she had given his hand a squeeze back, and they walked further into the ruined village together.

Their survey of the village had been conducted swiftly, not because they were cruel, not because they had not the heart to pray over the souls lost, but because they had realized grimly that time was not on their side. There were still other settlements to check on the route they had been given. Ayleth hoped against hope, praying in her head to the Ascended that they would find them in a better state than this first stop. Ayleth and Pyrede had searched as best they could, and while they examined wounds and weapon strikes, footprints and anything left behind, it was not enough for them to discern much. What stuck in her mind as much as the carnage, the needless destruction, was the desecration of the humble temples to the Ascended. Effigies had been burned and destroyed, trampled beneath sabatons and the hooves of horses alike. The scrolls and texts that likely took poor villages ages to afford, to have a monk of the faith carefully scribe prayers and sermon alike for the common folk to have, were burned and torn to shreds. It pained her, and she was certain it pained her comrade as well. Still, the luxury of grieving for any of it, the lives lost or the disrespect to the objects of worship, was not something afforded to them.

Frustration had set in on them both as well, but the feeling had to be pushed down the same as any other emotion. After all, they had miles still to put behind them until the next settlement.

If she were honest with herself, Ayleth would admit she had trouble keeping her anger at bay. It had felt fine to let Pyrede see it on her, they'd spent much and more time with one another throughout their teachings in the Citadel. Their talents were not exactly the same, her incantations were stronger than his, but his prowess with physical combat was more advanced than her own. As Sister Myren had proclaimed, Aradis spoke highly of them both, sending them together because the pair complimented one another.

Balanced each other.

Her anger had been simmering, a low boil despite her best efforts. It wasn't until Pyrede had spotted the chaos beginning to unfold on their way to Mei Serin, that her pure anger could be put to use. Even if the pair had spoken so casually to one another, it was an act pure and simple. It was a mask, they could not be open about their feelings in front of the common folk.

Seers of the Blessed Blood were confident, they were self assured, they were serene and above such base emotions. Moreover, they were weapons of the faith and they would strike down the vile who sought to harm innocents. They would not see her falter, or tremble, not a tear shed nor lashing out in anger. Ayleth simply could not allow it.

The jolting little tug to her hair snapped her from her thoughts.

"Oh! Oh sorry, sorry Ayleth." Signe apologized quickly, as her brushing of Ayleth's hair had been just a little too rough, enough to make her tilt her head.

She laughed, however, gently patting at Signe's knee, staying still and in place while the girls continued to play with her hair.

"It's all right, it was accidental." Ayleth assured her.

An idle glance around, careful not to turn her head and disturb the girls' work, Ayleth spotted a semi-familiar little blonde across the common area. Estrid was standing before one of the statues. She was carefully lifting hands to gingerly place a few white flowers cautiously into one of the ornate stone carved bowls of water placed at the statue's base. The girl was so slow with every motion, meticulous, as if she feared dropping any of the blooms too roughly, lest they fall imperfectly into the bowl. Ayleth couldn't help but notice the statue that Estrid had chosen to stand in front of and tend to the offerings of, though. The little flaxen haired child was diligently placing flowers and other herbs in front of a depiction of Pyrede's namesake.

In ages past, the first 'Pyrede' had been a Seer who rediscovered Iasion's resurrection incantations after communing with the Ascended One's spirit. His attempt had lasted weeks, the Seer had not left the base of the great oak, nor had he moved from his meditative pose until he had truly heard the voice of Iasion speaking to him. Such meditations were a right of passage for any Seer, but not all of them bore fruit of knowledge from the Dvine in the same way. Sometimes it was simply wisdom instead of incantation. From the times of Kalopael onward, each time a new secret was revealed, it was another incantation passed on to every new generation of Seers.

Estrid was a funny one, she thought. Ayleth often felt badly for how easily the young girl was overlooked, being so meek, so quiet, ghosting around the Citadel like a soft stepping shadow. Most often, she was on her own, though Ayleth could've sworn she'd seen her interact with Vidar and Signe on and off. The pair still playing with her hair of course, were so boisterous and outgoing that they were keen to run ahead of Estrid, and rather than wait for her to join them, they sometimes didn't even notice she hadn't. Perhaps it was guilt, as well, that Ayleth felt. The few times she had attempted to coax Estrid to join her in even a simple task, in hopes of getting her to open up, she'd failed. Estrid would avert her eyes and wordlessly, shake her head before scampering away.

It was different, however, when it came to Pyrede.

Estrid was much like a duckling, it was as though she had imprinted on the youth and tagged along with him whenever he had free time. Estrid often avoided looking at anyone directly, but with him, it was like he easily drew her gaze. He had to but say a word and she clung to it as readily as she clung to his hand. The fact that Pyrede allowed that physical contact, was telling. Pyrede could be coarse with the fledglings, he was often quick to shoo any of the others away if they wanted his time or attention. Always, he would cite needing to train, needing to study, that he was far too busy for them.

Not her, though. Not Estrid.

Ayleth wasn't sure she could put it to words, the off feeling she got. It was like a nagging at the back of her mind, but she could not explain it. Certainly, she wasn't jealous of a child having his eyes and attention. That would be ridiculous, and definitely unbecoming of her. It was arrogance, to think she was so easy to like, so amicable that naturally Estrid should be comfortable around her as well, was it not? Once again, the more she thought about things the more confusing it all felt, tangled up like unruly threads.

What yanked her from her reverie this time, was the abrupt sound of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance of the Citadel being shoved open. She was not the first to look over, the others milling about the common area also stopped whatever they were doing. All the idle, simple activity was interrupted by voices, by footsteps and even a sudden change in how the air felt.

Servants were running around, but quickly stayed back against the walls, between statues and windows, tucked off and out of the way as Sister Myren came rushing from one of the inner sanctums. It was uncharacteristic, to see the woman in her elegant ceremonial garb and shimmering ornaments to grab her skirts roughly and run. In the same instance, other proper Seers were coming out from various halls, it seemed as though whatever instinct Sister Myren had that bade her come out, had affected them as well. Wordlessly, Ayleth stood and began walking swiftly, the girls clinging to her hands and following as well. The more Seers came out, the less able she was to tell at a glance, at a distance, what was going on.

At the main entrance, where she and Pyrede had been received so gently and diligently by the patient Sister Myren, staggered in three other novices. Ayleth recognized them, it was Sondias and Celaya holding up Annyn between them. Annyn was limp, seemingly unconscious. The cacophony of voices seemed to echo in the common room, questions and proclamations of shock. The pair holding their comrade up seem about ready to buckle under the weight of carrying them. There was no time to gently secret them away, the look on Sister Myren's face said that plainly enough.

"Lay him down." She sternly directed them to set the injured upon the stone floor. Other Seers push through the novices and fledglings, they encircled the trio.

There was so, so much blood.

Frantic, one of the novices, having fallen to her knees in exhaustion and agitation, tried her best to speak clearly enough for Sister Myren.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't hold the incantation up any longer." Through tears, Sondias and Celaya knelt alongside their prone third. Their trembling hands were still on Annyn, the faint green glow on their fingers flickered and faded off.

As if on command, the blood, the mess, increased twofold the moment the incantation dropped.

Ayleth's eyes widened when realization hit her. The incantation they were keeping up, between the pair of them, had been to circulate the blood. It was to keep the injured's heart pumping, to keep a pulse while they traveled. A novice would not be able to truly mend the damage, they had not yet been taught the intricacies of weaving together flesh and bone, nerves and blood vessels. The most prudent choice, was to preserve lividity to them, to keep blood flowing properly, until reaching those that could heal the damage. They had done as they should've, and moreover, across miles of travel.

From her vantage point, Ayleth could see Annyn's antlers were broken, what little of his face that was visible, covered in bruises and swollen. When the front of their traveling attire and makeshift bandages were torn free by the Seers to access the wounds, there was a sudden stillness. A hush fell upon all present, it was like time itself stopped.

Not just horribly injured, they were dead, mutilated.

Flesh and bone pulled apart, as if the strength of a beast's jaws has mauled them but the precision of what had been cut was all too human. Ayleth felt as though a stone dropped in the empty pit of her stomach upon the sight. All around her, other novices inhaled gasps, they covered their mouths in horror. Many looked away.

"Please, Sister Myren." Sondias half crawled to where the woman was knelt before the dead novice, grabbing at the pure white cloth of Myren's ceremonial robes. Clinging, pleading, staining the fabric with blood. "He can do it, can't he? If we get Aradis, he can bring-"

A choked sob interrupted, but Sondias was desperate to continue.

"We kept him all this way, we kept his blood flowing all this way so he can be healed. There's still time, isn't there? We were swift enough, weren't we? The resurrection can be performed." The girl's voice was wavering, near begging. "It's our fault, we lost sight of each other along the border settlements. It's our fault, I-I will tell Aradis it was our fault we will accept any punishments, please call him, please-."

It was at this, that Ayleth realized something else, a near chilling truth. These three, they weren't like herself and Pyrede, their skills were not the same. Grimly, the thought entered her mind and she nearly wished to chide herself for it but the truth was plain in front of her eyes.

Even among those of blessed blood, there would exist 'runts' of the proverbial litter.

Sister Myren had not moved, she had kept hands bracketing the vicious, cavernous wound on the young novice's chest. It was clear that this, this was not the way she had wanted to receive them back after their journey, when she saw them off. When she spoke at last, her voice was a soft whisper.

"I will not call him."

The pair looked at her with abject horror on their faces, an expression which felt misplaced on those so young. Again, they bowed, foreheads to the floor and were sobbing openly.

It was Celaya that lifted her head first. "We came as quickly as we could! You have to! Please! You-"

When Sister Myren hushed them, it was harshly, it was with a single barked command. "Be silent!"

The entire room quieted moreso, it was as though many forgot to breathe. The silence lasted but a moment, but it felt like an age, tension tight around every throat.

When Sister Myren gathered herself, it was to speak more clearly.

"The wound is too old, the flesh and bone taken. The heart..." Sister Myren could not bring herself to say it. She could not bring herself to say that the organ itself was gone. "You know what that means, dear ones. We are gifted to bring vitality back to sickness afflicted flesh, to revitalize the body so it may mend, coaxed and led by our skills...but we cannot replace something taken."

She paused, shaking her head, lifting a hand to gently pull down the mask from the young novice's bruised and battered face. Cupping his cheek with infinite tenderness.

"None but the Ascended himself can create something from nothing." Sister Myren said, her voice a soft, broken utterance. "...and Annyn is his now, no longer ours."

No sooner had the words left the Seer's lips, that Sondias and Celaya were on the floor, collapsed in open weeping. The screams from their grief, their agony of failure, echoed in the common room and each felt like a dagger in Ayleth's heart. Suddenly, it was like Ayleth remembered they were all so, so young. They were not yet grown and they were being told their efforts to bring their friend home were for nothing. They were being told that the reality of death must also come for them.

Even the blessed die.

Signe and Vidar were clinging to Ayleth, and she let them. She felt tears sting her eyes, but they did not fall. Looking slowly around at the others, heads bowed and hiding tears, the elder Seers more solemn in acceptance to such realities. It made Ayleth feel a shudder up her spine, as if someone were dragging the point of a dagger up her back.

This could've happened to them too, had they been weaker, had they been caught unawares. Had they been separated, perhaps.

Her thoughts made her attention flicker around the room to look for Pyrede. Drawn to him, finding him, though she wasn't sure he'd been standing there the whole time or not. Estrid was standing in front of him, his hands were on her shoulders. Her eyes were big and wide, it made Ayleth more aware of the way Signe and Vidar hid their faces against her robes. The pair quietly cried against her sides, they trembled and Ayleth gently put a hand to either girl's back, reminding them she was there.

The little blonde wrung her hands, anxious, nervous, uncertain. When Estrid dipped her head, it was clearly to shy from the sight before them, the hideous scene and its sorrows. A natural reaction, surely, but Pyrede grasped her chin immediately. He guided her, tipped her chin up and made sure she was looking. He leaned down and whispered something into her flaxen hair.

He lingered there a moment, bent over Estrid, his attention darted to Ayleth from across the common room. When he straightened, he let his hands resume their place on Estrid's shoulders. The fledgling struggled visibly, Ayleth could tell from afar even, that she wanted so badly to flee or cry, but she didn't. She stayed standing there before Pyrede, watching the scene continuing to unfold before them while she was nervously wringing her hands.

There was something difficult to explain in the way Pyrede and Ayleth looked at each other, then. She wondered what he was thinking. Did the thought cross his mind, that it could've been them, if things had gone differently? Or was he confident such would never happen to them? Were they lucky, or was the distance between them and their peers really so great?

She didn't know.

Her attention was dragged back at movement, activity, at the center of things. Elder Seers had approached closer at Sister Myren's request, moving to lift the dead novice onto a plain litter. There was much to be done and already, Sister Myren was delegating swiftly. The two remained knelt and sobbing, they clung to one another while Annyn was taken away. Sister Myren looked to them after a moment, and gently bade them to rise to their feet. Weakened and road-weary, she put a hand to either one's shoulder. When she spoke, it was quietly in a low, hushed whisper. Whatever words of comfort she gave, were for them alone, before she guided them along. Away to privacy, away from further prying eyes.

As quickly as the chaos erupted, novices and young fledglings were being ushered away in turn. Ayleth held the two girls close to her sides, and watched a moment longer. She watched as the servants came away from being tucked along the walls out of the forefront, and began to clean up the blood from the stone floors. Ayleth wasn't sure what felt worse, that blood was spilled this way in the Citadel, or that so quickly it had to be removed to retain the sanctity of appearances.

Again, she looked for Pyrede, and found him just in time to watch as he moved to stoop down and pick up Estrid. Estrid set her chin on his shoulder and shut her eyes tightly. She clung and Pyrede let her. Vaguely, Ayleth wondered if such affection was a reward for the girl's bravery before. Bravery, or perhaps simple obedience. As much as she wished not to think about it, she knew better than most that there was a transactional quality to some interactions with Pyrede. It galled her, but she could not truly deny that he was her closest confidant.

How else would she understand the nature of such an interaction at a glance?

They had a bond, but, was it simply because of the novices, they were ahead of their peers? Would they choose one another to stand alongside, were they not placed there by the Citadel as prodigies? Ayleth didn't know exactly, but the fact that she had these questions arise may have been the answer.

She allowed her attention to rest on them just a little longer. Ayleth watched Pyrede leave the common area, carrying Estrid with all the gentle tenderness he denied many. Ayleth felt it again, that sensation up her spine, as the other disappeared from view. A shake of her head, to scatter her thoughts, before she knelt down. She gathered Signe and Vidar into a tight embrace as they still cried. It was fine that they wept, they should, it was natural. This sorrow over death was natural to feel. They would have to adjust to simply not seeing Annyn wander the Citadel any longer, much like the rest of them would. For now, they should be allowed to weep. Later on, as Seers proper, they would not be afforded the luxury of their emotions in such a raw manner.

At that thought a weariness settled upon Ayleth's shoulders, a feeling that the things she'd seen as of late were only the beginning.