"In the faith, the white lily is used liberally in both sanctified ceremony and humble ritual as a representation and link to the Ascended One. Iasion was said to have had such blooms growing within the deep green of his hair, ever in flourish, never wilting. When utilizing his grace given power, every footfall left lush greenery and those selfsame flowers in his wake. As though another remnant of his divinity left to mankind, these flowers are the most easy to cultivate. From the wealthiest noble to the poorest of common folk, they are accessible to one and all. As such, from the most ornate altars in the Citadel of Aiseryn to even the most basic of shrines in the outskirt villages, the lilies are present. In both ideal and harsh environs, the flower will ever take root, serving as a reminder of the connection between mankind and the Ascended One. It puts to proof so clearly, and without question, that Iasion remains within reach of all.

The whole of the world was ever his temple, and thus no one is ever far from his divine benevolence or eternal grace."

-Chronicles of the Ascended, Reverence to the Divine.

The usual chatter and noise of the dormitories was, unsurprisingly, subdued. Less audible were the usual shrieks of teasing and playful giggling of the fledglings that had been present just a day before. For the moment, they were left to their own devices. Unlike any other day, there was no call at first light for them to be readied for prayers, their lessons in turn were also delayed.

All the same, the relative quiet did not mean there was no movement, no activity. The young ones bustled around, almost distractedly, the sight of them calling to mind little lost fawn wandering amid the wood. The dormitories were set up as small individual halls within the Citadel, communal living quarters for the blessed children. Beds were lined up neatly, a heavy wooden trunk at the end of each, there was no lack of hanging potted plants or of ivy crawling up the walls. The staple of white lilies adorned windows and headboards alike. At the far end of the hall, an altar below a stonework statue of the Ascended One. His features were ever serene, depicted with great care. The altar's place in the dormitories was as though he looked over the young ones as a protective force. The flowers woven into wreaths and clumsy crowns decorated the statue's antlers, a self imposed ritual of the fledglings. They were always mindful to decorate the idol, it was both reverence and a playful game.

Estrid sat on the edge of her bed. Next to hers, was Signe's, and next to Signe's, was Vidar's. Estrid was already dressed. As ever, she was diligent and single minded to any supposed task given to her even if at the moment, none of the Sisters were around to oversee them. While normally they'd all be in their identical, shapeless frocks, today they were assigned different garb. Their dresses were still white linen, but over their shoulders were mantles of thin, near translucent fabric upon which intricate vines were embroidered with silver thread. Estrid already had hers draped over her shoulders, the touch of it against her skin almost too-soft, too-delicate for her. Hands clasped in her lap, she watched Signe and Vidar disguise their childish playing as helping one another get ready. Though they kept their voices down, they chattered and laughed as if this was simply another day.

Estrid watched them in silence, but there was an anxious fluttering that she felt in the pit of her stomach all the same. Every hopeful little glance she realized she'd made at the doorway, only caused her to feel ridiculous. It made her feel childish and flighty, but the hope was there nonetheless and it would not leave her.

Vidar did her best to gather up Signe's pitch black hair, returning the prior favor the other girl had done for her own copper red tresses. Their attempts were simple, but passable, at replicating the more intricate hairstyles of the Sisters. It wasn't, Estrid thought, as though they hadn't put in the practice. This made Estrid look away again, stretching out her legs. For a moment she just looked at her own sandal clad feet in attempts to distract herself.

Neither had offered to do the same for her, to help her manage her hair, but Estrid decided quickly she did not care. Her hands pushed back the pale, slightly limp cornsilk strands behind one ear, as though reminding herself just how much she did not care. Estrid's hands were clumsy with braiding, so she had not tried it today, and had opted to leave her hair loose as a result. They were being silly, she thought. They deflected from the situation at hand, they distracted one another by picking and poking and banter. They were still such children, she told herself, almost too sharp a thought. They shielded themselves as they had before, they looked away, they hid. Worst of all, they had been allowed to do it.

Spoiled.

Estrid had not been allowed and she still housed conflicted feelings rolling around in her stomach in regards to it. Part of her had wished to hide, had wished it so desperately, and in truth she had tried to. She had tried to, but Pyrede did not let her. Without thinking, her hand came up, fingers pressing against the underside of her chin. She mimicked the gesture, in a fashion, tipping her own chin up as he had when she knew it was always so much easier to just stare at the ground.

"Do not look away. Do not dishonor them by averting your eyes." His voice had been as firm as his grip, he'd forced her gaze to remain fixed on the sight of Annyn's lifeless body. Sondias and Celeya's agony still rang in her ears at the memory. "You may cry, but you look at them. See them."

She had been frozen, and perhaps that had been for the best. Being frozen in place, meant when he took his hand away, she continued to look at them, taking in the entirety of the scene and all the blood of it. It would be committed to memory, whether she wished for it or not.

The novice's words stuck to her.

It had been like walking through spiderwebs, vague discomfort but no true danger, no intended pain. He had not been cruel in tone, after all, Pyrede had spoken to her sternly but he held her after. He lifted Estrid as if she were a smaller child still, as if precious, as if knowing her own legs felt weak after the scene they'd all beheld.

That was a small affection so freely given, without her asking.

It was as though Pyrede knew how much she hated asking. Often, Estrid would sneak her hand into his, or subtly grasp the edge of his tunic in order to follow along with him closely. She did not like to ask for his attention so directly, so his kindness was in not making her do it this time. Other times, though. Other times she had to. She didn't like to think much about those moments, instead she tucked them away in the back of her mind. Much like throwing a sheet of ignorance over those moments, the way one would over a bird's cage to trick them that night had come. Similarly she kept such thoughts away from becoming noticed in her own mind.

It was better that way.

Her brow furrowed, then, lips pursed in thought. Again, she was wringing her hands as she sat on the edge of her bed, watching the two other girls but not really looking at them now. Estrid was looking past them, somewhere about the wall behind their heads, her thoughts still tangled around her. The anxiety that sat in the pit of her stomach had turned to dread. It felt heavy like a stone, like a foreign substance she wished to cleanse herself of even if it meant by retching.

She snapped from her distraction when her eyes caught motion at the doorway of the dormitory. Just as the tension in her gut began to feel insurmountable, she was given sweet relief upon seeing Pyrede enter. He looked just a little different, more gracefully put together. Raven dark hair was pulled back neatly, but his curls were still seen from the low ponytail. His clothing was the simplistic tunic and trousers in white, but he also had a mantle over his shoulders. It was a deep green as a backdrop to more detailed silver-threaded vines in contrast to the more basic ones Estrid and the other children had. He stood at the threshold of the hall with hands clasped behind his back, calmly surveying the fledglings in their various states of readiness.

From where Estrid sat, she could see plain on his features the clear disappointment.

Estrid hopped off her bed immediately. It was as if she were abruptly compelled to shake away that expression he wore as she rushed over. Primly, she stood before the novice with her hands gently clasped in front of herself, her gaze partly downcast. She, at least, was ready and he could at least take solace that Estrid was not wasting time.

There was conflict, again, in the girl's mind. On some level, yes, she wished for even the slightest praise for her diligence, but at the same time, it felt unseemly to want it. If she was to be truly well behaved and pious as a child blessed by the Ascended, she should not do right only for the desire of praise. Before her thoughts could swirl about her head much longer, she was gently pulled from it when Pyrede knelt down before her. When she lifted her head to look at him, she had expected that disappointed look to still remain. Yet, she was given the most slight, subtle smile on the novice's youthful facade.

He raised his hands, running fingers through the girl's pale blonde hair, and gingerly gathered it forward. Estrid stayed still. She stared at him with some level of confusion. Pyrede began to braid her hair loosely. It was not quite as fancy as any of the female novices might, but it was a serviceable braid to keep her neat.

"Just so." He said it quietly, just to Estrid, as he let the braid rest against her shoulder.

Without thinking, she lifted her hand to gently touch her hair. A weak smile was turned toward Pyrede. "Thank you." Her tone was, as usual, so small and meek when amid others.

Before Pyrede could say anything more to her, he looked over as Ayleth entered to stand alongside him. Estrid's gaze followed his, and just as quickly as it had come, her smile faded. Like him, her clothing consisted of the same white tunic and trousers, the same mantle, Ayleth's dark hair gathered up intricately and held by small silver pins in the shape of leaves. For a moment, Estrid let her attention rest on those silver pins with envy.

Pyrede stood upright again, arms folded over his chest.

"They're not even ready, yet." He stated flatly, before he relaxed very slightly and indicated Estrid with a nod of his head. "Except Estrid, in any case."

Estrid dropped her gaze sheepishly, but with that same little hint of pride in her chest at even an off-hand bit of praise. When she looked back up, it was to watch the pair speak to one another.

Ayleth had smiled down at her, but Estrid did not deign to smile back. It was fine, though, the novice didn't seem to notice it. A sigh escaped Ayleth as she regarded Pyrede again. "I do not blame them, they're young."

Pyrede scoffed at that. "An excuse."

She ignored his comment.

"In truth, I do not know why Aradis wants them to come at all, is it not enough that the Seers and Novices attend?" Her voice was fretful as she looked out at the other children still lingering in getting prepared.

"I think they're too young."

It was Pyrede's turn to sigh, and he did it with such exasperation that Estrid almost, almost wished to laugh. Instead, she subtly inched her way over to his side. Once there, Pyrede seemed to notice her proximity and unfolded his arms, letting his hand drop to his side. Estrid did not waste the opportunity and snuck her hand into his, holding onto it. Immediately, Estrid felt calmer as she continued to listen to the novices speak.

"I disagree." He stated sharply, looking to Ayleth. "They may be young, but they are not dull, Ayleth. They will understand, and if they do not, they will learn to understand in short order."

"Understand what, Pyrede? That the world has the capacity for cruelty?" Her voice was tense. "They have the rest of their lives to steel their hearts, must it truly begin so soon?"

The raven haired youth rolled his shoulders before answering her.

"The Voice of the Ascended, and the Council, have clearly decided this is but something they must withstand. That is all we need to know, Ayleth." A sharp eyed look was fixed upon the other novice. "You do them a gross disservice by coddling them."

The sting of the comment seemed to anger Ayleth, Estrid thought. It was not an explosion of emotion, but a sudden spark all the same. Estrid watched Ayleth's brows furrow, her lips turned to a tight line. Estrid's grip got tighter on Pyrede's hand, but he simply stroked his thumb against the back of hers.

"Pyrede." Her voice was tense once more, she looked poised to lay into the other novice.

She did not, however, get the chance.

He waved a hand dismissively and turned away from her.

"Sister Ruehnar will be along shortly, like as not, to take them by way of the Inner Sanctum. If you wish to continue coddling them, at least see that they get themselves situated before she arrives."

He didn't even wait on her to respond, instantly he led Estrid out of the dormitory and started down the corridor. The little blonde looked over her shoulder, unable to resist the curiosity. She looked just in time to see Ayleth disappear into the dormitory rather than pursue them to try and snip at Pyrede.

Estrid, suddenly, wasn't sure what to call the emotion she was feeling. It was like a mixture of pride and exhilaration, somehow. When she looked up at Pyrede as they walked, in the back of her mind she hoped to have a tongue as quick and clever as him someday. Pyrede was never caught without something to say, he was never made to feel small or silly, he certainly never stumbled on his words either. Sometimes, Estrid was clumsy when she spoke to the other children, she was shy during their lessons even when she knew the answers to the Sister's questions. She could never imagine Pyrede being struck in such a manner, not even a little.

"Ayleth thinks it would be doing you all a kindness, to be shielded from this. It isn't a mercy, it's only delaying a lesson of life." He looked down at her. "You understand, don't you Estrid?"

Pyrede's gaze was locked with hers. She couldn't have looked away if she tried.

"You understand why it was important to look?" He added, voice quiet but firm.

Estrid nodded mutely, before gathering herself enough to respond.

"I understand."

She hoped she did. She hoped not to paint herself a liar by saying it so easily, that she understood. Her answer seemed to please him, however, as Estrid was once more gifted another soft smile. As if he were proud of her for it, for understanding. Praising her for being grown-up and not needing to be coddled. Again, the strange feeling in her chest, that exhilaration, returned to her. He'd only insisted she look, that she witness the gruesome scene because he trusted she understood.

They walked in silence, then, but it did not feel uncomfortable to her. It couldn't, not really, not when she was holding onto Pyrede's hand and they remained in the familiarity of the same halls she'd known her whole short life. Absently, she counted entryways, counted side halls, as they walked. She was anticipating their arrival to some of the largest of the heavy wooden doors, and that anticipation made her stomach do flips.

She had never been in the Inner Sanctum, none of the fledglings had, nor the novices. The Inner Sanctum was where the grown Seers meditated and performed ritual. It was also like a prelude to the more sanctified chambers beyond, through which only those of the Council and the Voice of the Ascended could freely enter, and likewise invite or bar others from entering. When Estid looked up at Pyrede as they came up to the doors of the Inner Sanctum, she realized he too seemed to be feeling anticipation. Certainly, his expression was focused, but the grip to her hand was much more secure than before.

He took a steadying breath, before he glanced down at her. Pyrede said nothing, but it was as though he was making sure she was just as put-together as she had been when they'd left the dormitories as his eyes scanned her briefly. She was, of course, but even so when he looked away she found herself smoothing her dress with her free hand. Pushing the heavy doors open, Pyrede stepped forward.

The Inner Sanctum was not quite what Estrid had expected. There was a low hum of activity, adult Seers were milling about the expanse of the hall. They spoke quietly to one another, their faces obscured with the thin veils they wore, covering both antlers and their heads entirely. It gave them a vague, almost ghostly presence, it was like they glided instead of walked. The high windows had heavy drapes drawn across them, keeping out the sunlight. There was visibility enough, however, by virtue of several candles and lanterns placed all about the large hall. Altars and statues still lined the walls, but Estrid felt unsettled by them. In the gloom, heavy shadows were cast on the Ascended One's features and the gemstones placed as his eyes caught the flickering candlelight in an unnatural way. The vague illumination made the snakes carved to loop about his shoulders seem as though they swayed gently, alive. The scent in the air was strong, a mix of incense and burnt wood that stung her nose slightly. As Pyrede led her along, they walked slowly. She saw he was looking around with just as much scrutiny and curiosity as she was. Estrid had to remind herself he had never set foot here either, they were both walking through the Inner Sanctum for the first time.

Estrid found the general layout of the area a bit odd. There were pillows and plush looking rugs in various haphazard places in the hall without much organization or order. She noted smoke rising in thin lines from bottles and pipes set near the cushions scattered about. It was unlike where they prayed in the temple, or before many of the altars. Estrid could not imagine one could comfortably pray here at all. It felt too dark, too secluded, too foreboding. Where was the sunlight? The open air? The bowls of offerings and fresh flowers?

As if reading her mind or perhaps having similar thoughts, Pyrede spoke.

"Seers try various ways in order to hear the Ascended One's voice clearly." He said, gently. "The world can be too loud, even the sun's rays too bright. To open ourselves up entirely, to be able to receive his words and wisdom, methods of meditation will be quite different than when we pray normally. Dulling our sense of sight or smell, at times, can heighten our hearing so he may speak to us and be properly heard."

Estrid looked up at him, eyes wide and alert, hanging on every word. As much as she did not like the feel of the Inner Sanctum, she did not complain outright. Instead, she nodded in understanding, she took his word as truth and continued alongside him. At the far end of the hall, one of the Seers gingerly inclined their head. Faintly, Estrid could hear the tinkling sound of rings and metal adornments jostling with the motion.

"Is this a lost fawn, Pyrede?" Brother Sylmare spoke in a low voice, almost distantly, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. He regarded her, but Estrid struggled to make out his features clearly through the veil and low-light of the hall.

Pyrede bowed his head, Estrid followed his lead immediately and did the same.

"Not lost, simply prompt." He waited for a respectful moment, before lifting his head again. "Ayleth is seeing to the other young ones before Sister Ruehnar collects them, but Estrid was a little restless."

He looked down at Estrid briefly, still holding her hand.

"I felt there was no harm in escorting her myself, seeing as the other novices will be heading this way as well."

Brother Sylmare nodded as he watched Estrid for a breath, as though surveying her carefully. His attention drifted back to Pyrede just before she began to feel uneasy.

"How kind of you." The man spoke slowly, thoughtful. Extending a hand, he let it rest atop her head, brushing slightly at the base of one of the girl's antlers. He still looked at Pyrede, however. "On any other occasion, I would insist she be seated with the other fledglings, but the circumstances are...delicate, and as such the Voice of the Ascended is allowing the exception to custom."

He removed his hand from Estrid's head.

"I scarcely have to tell you that we are approaching quite the precarious times. I imagine there will be more adjustments to come."

Pyrede straightened a little, expression focused. It felt like, to Estrid, as though he had understood something Brother Sylmare had not said outright. Unfortunately, Estrid hadn't the slightest idea what that might be, and was reminded of how much she disliked when adults spoke around her in secrets.

The conversation, however, ended at that. No sooner had Brother Sylmare spoken in so cryptic a fashion, that more voices were added to the general din of the hall. When Estrid looked over her shoulder, it was in time to see Sister Myren and novice Ayleth leading the remainder of her peers. She took in how the others seemed just as unsettled as she had been, to step into the Inner Sanctum, how different it was when compared to the rest of the Citadel they knew so well. Several kept close to one another, or followed Sister Myren closely as she guided them in. Despite herself, Estrid felt her brow furrow with irritation upon seeing Vidar and Signe clinging to Ayleth's side once more. Even as she herself was still clutching Pyrede's hand, she wasn't acting like they were, not hiding against him and hanging off him. It was different, she told herself.

A gentle tug brought her back from her distraction as she looked up at Pyrede.

"Come, then." Just brief, direct words from him as Brother Sylmare pushed the second set of doors open.

Now that there were more of them arriving, it was best to get them situated as they entered. Pyrede ushered her along another corridor. It was just as dimly lit as the Inner Sanctum, but somehow to Estrid, it felt more inviting. There were more flowers along the walls, smaller altars carved into the stone of them and the scent was less cloying incense and burnt wood. As they walked, she could hear the others who had arrived following, small smattering of voices here and there. It was a nervous energy from the young, but a solemn silence from the novices and Seers.

The further they walked, the wider the corridor became. The ceiling of the passageway also grew taller as they progressed, up until they came to wrought iron gates beneath a curved archway. Stone pillars bracketed the entrance, and despite the stonework of the floor, there was tall grass and thick, twisting roots pushing through the spaces specifically left as open ground. Estrid quickly realized these gates too were guarded, much like the perimeter of the Citadel grounds. The difference was, the armored figures waiting lined up against the walls, all wore specific colors and adornments that signified not Aiseryn itself, but the Citadel. They cut imposing silhouettes, and that only made Estrid not want to look at them.

Luckily, she did not have to view them long. No sooner had they come within feet of them, that Sister Myren passed Pyrede and Estrid. Placing a hand gingerly upon the gate, from her fingertips the faint green glow of an incantation. Not a word spoken-as full fledged Seers in some instances did not need to recite their spellcraft, and the twisting, coiled designs on the gate became illuminated. With what sounded like the chiming of bells, the gates slid open.

Estrid bit her lower lip as she watched, holding tight to Pyrede's hand as she was both awed and anxious all at once. Sister Myren turned to those gathered, and inclined her head gently. Again, the adornments and delicate chains hanging from her antlers made soft tinkling sounds.

"The Voice of the Ascended will arrive shortly and we shall begin. Take your places and comport yourselves with the dignity and grace of your blessed blood." The latter, of course, was more directed at the novices and fledglings, Estrid understood that much. As the woman moved to stand aside, Pyrede and Estrid were the first to enter. She tried her best not to look quite so wide eyed, but truly, there was no avoiding it. Past the gates was not another hall, no. They were outside once more, the air was crisp and she could hear the breeze above rustling leaves. Quickly, her mind was trying to take everything in, but it was impossible to do so without letting her attention dart around.

As they walked further into this open courtyard, Estrid felt the realization settle upon her of just where, exactly, they were. They had been taught since their first lessons, that the Bough of the Divine, the towering, sacred oak that had sprung forth from the place of the Ascended One's sacrifice, was holy ground. Every explanation of how large the tree was, did not do it justice. Even as she craned her neck, she could not hope to see the top of it, so close they were to it's base. The huge, twisted roots were half buried in the ground, but they still dwarfed even the tallest soldier. In the shade of the Bough of the Divine, other, smaller trees grew. They looked more like sapling sprouts when compared to the giant roots they grew alongside, like toys set against a full sized tree.

It took them a bit of walking, to get to their destination. The walkway that guided them was lined with flowers and tall grass, leading up to what Estrid could barely make out as a flat stone altar. Behind it, the statue of Iasion was made of some kind of deep-green stone, making the carved reliefs of the twin snakes draping his shoulders stand out all the more as they were made of what could have either been white stone or bone. Estrid couldn't quite tell, but it was magnificent. All around both the stone slab and the statue, the bright white lilies in fragrant bouquets and scattered along the ground.

There were various woven mats set around this focal point of the statue and stone altar. Much like everyone else, Pyrede and Estrid settled in, finding a place near the front to seat themselves. The chattering had died down to silence, it seemed inappropriate to speak much in a place like this, just a stone's throw from the God's Fall. Estrid smoothed the mantle on her shoulders, her gaze finally coming to the stone altar. When she looked at it, now that they were seated so close, her chest felt tight. So distracted had she been with everything else, with the statue of Iasion, with the roots of the Bough of the Divine, with the flowers so abundantly placed, that she had not looked properly at the altar.

Laying upon it, atop a bed of those white lilies, as if in repose, was Annyn. He was no longer the bloodied mess she'd seen being dragged into the Citadel, they had cleansed him. They had dressed him in the white Seer's robes he'd never earn, repaired his antlers from their broken state, his clasped hands were placed over his chest. Annyn's expression was so peaceful, the bruises covered up, he looked almost as if he were simply sleeping and Estrid might've believed it at a glance.

It was not that Estrid hadn't known why they weren't at their lessons, why everyone had been collected and brought here, of course she knew, they all did. Under any other circumstance, none of them, not novices or fledglings, would've been allowed into the Inner Sanctums. This was an exception, one of their own had died.

No, died was not the right description, Estrid thought. He had been killed. Malicious harm had befallen him, and he had been killed.

Without thinking, she sought out Pyrede's hand again, holding onto it tightly. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, but the sting of guilt reared its head the moment Estrid thought 'at least it was not Pyrede'. She struggled with the thought, with knowing he was talented and capable, but realizing quickly the world outside the Citadel was unpredictable. She chided herself for her own feelings, because this should not have happened to any of them. They were chosen by God, they were bestowed with his power to guide mankind and continue Iasion's legacy of benevolence and grace.

Their very blood was blessed. Who would deign to so brutally spill it?

Though few spoke amongst themselves, she could hear some sniffling, could hear the shifting of others where they sat. Distantly, some not-so-silent weeping. Again, she felt tension in the pit of her stomach. The nausea crept up on her, and the only thing keeping her from shaking was the stability of holding Pyrede's hand. When she glanced to him, quietly, she saw little else on his expression but stern focus. Estrid wondered what he was thinking, but that was all it would be: wondering. She would never be so crude as to ask him, after all.

Once more, the melodic sound of bells chiming. Estrid, like everyone else, followed the sound, seeking its origin. A wave of relief flowed over her, when she saw the Voice of the Ascended approaching. He walked, flanked by Sister Tisnala and Brother Vaeril. Upon reaching the stone altar, the two Seers moved to seat themselves in turn, amid the rest. The Voice of the Ascended, Aradis, had held the position for as long as Estrid could remember. Standing behind the stone altar, positioned between it and the intricate statue of the Ascended One, Aradis lifted his hands and pulled the translucent veil that had covered his head and antlers, off. He let it fall to the grass, regarding everyone with his bare face-which was already something of a deviation from the norm. Brother Sylmare had mentioned exceptions, hadn't he? Estrid had to wonder if this was one of them.

Aradis was a tall, thin man with fair skin and long, silver hair. Clad in the pure white vestments of his station, most notable to Estrid was the silver filigree headpiece he wore. It sat at the back of his head, framing him as though a silver halo. In the center, a perfect white lily suspended by spider-silk thin wire. He stood there a long moment, silently, all in attendance with their attention fixed upon him. Leaning forward, he set his hands against the edge of the stone slab upon which one of his novices lay, robbed of life and robbed of his divine purpose. Aradis bowed his head a moment.

"The only mercy we are given, is that young Annyn will not rest far from home." Aradis said gently, before slowly straightening to stand again.

He looked out at everyone present, grief plain on his face.

"I will not speak of what could have been, for when I look upon him, I know there was still greatness ahead. Annyn, named after one of Iasion's most trusted and stalwart shields, would have certainly brought honor to his namesake, that much is certain to me." He turned to regard the ornate statue behind him, searchingly.

"Yet we will not see it, for he is with you now. Never again will he grace these halls, but neither will he ever know any more pain."

Estrid felt a stinging behind her eyes, but stubbornly, she refused to look down or look away. Fingers gripping Pyrede's hand, she kept her attention focused on the Voice of the Ascended, taking in every word, every movement. She would commit this to memory as much as she had seeing the novice bleed out in the Citadel.

Aradis faced them once more.

"I will not deign to keep you all over long, we mustn't sink into our sorrows." This was said apologetically, as Aradis raised his hands upward.

"Ascended One, I release this soul into your mercy. Father of the most verdant of grace, hallowed be thy name. Hear me now at this most desperate hour. May your divinity move through me, your chosen voice, may your benevolence move through these unworthy hands, to bless this fallen child. This child, born of your blood, I request your strength, your presence, as I return him to you. May he find his way through the roots of the trees, up to the boughs, and return to your celestial embrace."

Aradis spoke in a powerful voice, clearly. He did not need to trace symbols in the air or even recite an incantation, such was his power as Iasion's chosen voice. As he continued, the ground beneath their feet rumbled and shifted. The heavy slab of an altar of solid stone also shook, it trembled and before her very eyes. Estrid watched, along with the rest, as the entire thing began to sink into the ground, bit by bit.

"From seed to sprout, to grow and flourish, to wither and die. Such is man a part of the cycle, to begin anew come the spring. Ascended One guide your child, keep him, return him to the flow of the cycle through your gentle guidance."

It was taking an immense amount of concentration, she thought. It had to, for Aradis to still pray in this manner while commanding the very soil and twisting roots beneath to reclaim the altar. Everyone was silent, many clasped their hands and bowed their heads in prayer, but Estrid could not tear her eyes away as Annyn's body and the stone slab beneath it were slowly disappearing.

"O' Eternal Guardian of the verdant grace, I ask for your forgiveness."

Aradis slowly lowered his hands, while arms remained outstretched over where Annyn's body had been mere moments before. The spot now was littered with the white lilies, and amid them, a sapling began to rapidly grow.

"This child, brought beneath my protection, is lost to us. Punish me as you see fit, punish me so I may strengthen my soul and bring to heel such cruelty, such wickedness, that would profane a child of your blood."

Estrid was struck by his words, then. The Voice of the Ascended, asking for punishment, asking to be punished for the loss of the novice. His tone startled her in turn, it was fevered, it was almost wild with fury. She'd never heard him like this before and doubted anyone else had either, judging by the hushed gasps and murmurs around her.

Unexpectedly, then, Aradis moved to kneel before the newly risen sapling. He bowed his head, the movement making that same chiming sound as the adornments on his antlers shifted.

"I do not only ask the Ascended his forgiveness, but you as well Annyn." He spoke more gently, but still audible to those in attendance. Aradis lifted his head after a moment, looking at the newborn tree that marked Annyn's proper rest. "We will make it right. All that was taken from you, it will not be in vain."

When Aradis finally stood, he turned to the rest of those under his protection, the rest of the Ascended One's chosen.

"Please, look after one another. Seers, mind the novices and fledglings, if they have need of you. Such sorrows need not be suffered alone, we are all of blessed blood, our bond is that of the chosen. We shall take strength from this, and from each other." He clasped his hands behind his back, his expression suddenly quite stern.

"Our purpose is our divine right. Much as we are the merciful hand of Iasion, we are likewise keepers of his peace and we will mete out his justice."

Just as quickly as his features had been dour, he let a soft, comforting smile arise once more. "Go with the guidance of the Ascended, and with the comfort of his love."

Aradis watched them as seers, novices, and fledglings alike all began to move and stand once he had essentially dismissed them. Estrid could hear voices more clearly now, despite them still being rather hushed out of respect. Murmurs of conversation, Seers speaking to each other or to the novices, several of her peers were crying and being comforted. Reactions were varied, some lingered and came up to either Aradis or the other Seers while others began to take their leave.

Then, Sondias and Celeya caught Estrid's eye. The two novices looked dazed, eyes red and features gaunt. They looked so weak, and haggard, despite being so neatly dressed the same as the other novices. As they walked, others looked at them, whispering amongst themselves. Some had been witnesses to the trio's return, others had only heard of it second hand. Slowly, Estrid got to her feet when she felt Pyrede moving to stand. She was still clutching his hand, but her attention was on the pair. They moved to kneel in front of the sapling, amid the white lilies that were scattered around it. They were silent for a long moment, just looking at the new little tree.

It would grow, it would see many seasons, and it would age.

Annyn, would not.

Abruptly, she inhaled a shaking breath. Estrid began to cry. Once she started to, she found herself quite unable to stop. She hated that she was crying, she hated that the tears continued to come despite inwardly scolding herself. Sniffling, she roughly rubbed her eyes and tried to duck her head, to hide from Pyrede's gaze. She knew it was on her, it had to be. How embarrassing, how ridiculous he must think her. She had looked, before, she had looked and kept from crying, she'd been so brave and grown up.

Now, though, now she cried. Estrid cried because her heart hurt. Her heart hurt from the finality of death, that the world would continue onward and it would simply be as though Annyn had never existed at all. He had been returned to the land, his soul would find its way back to the Ascended One, but the sorrow remained in his wake. It was not, however, only sorrow for Annyn which brought her to tears. The thought that had buried into her mind, gnawing at her, the reality was that she suddenly couldn't stop thinking about Pyrede dying. It was a shameful fear that seized her, in the wake of another having passed, but the feeling had sunk its claws into her chest all the same. She was terrible, she was awful. She was a wicked little thing for such feelings. The guilt hung heavily over her as she gasped for breath.

Estrid wasn't sure if Pyrede had been speaking to her this whole time or not, her head was ringing. She barely noticed he'd moved to kneel before her until he pulled his hand free of hers. The motion snapped her out of it, panicked at the loss of contact until she realized he'd only let go in order to gather her up. The girl melted into his grasp, hiding her face against his shoulder and curling against him.

Embarrassing. How embarrassing for her. Estrid wished to apologize, but every time she tried to speak her voice hiccuped amid another sob. She felt his hand against the back of her head, as if shielding her, letting her continue hiding against his shoulder.

Ever so softly, he spoke against her ear as he began to walk, falling into pace amid other novices and Seers as they headed back.

"You did well, Estrid."

Those simple words drifted into her head, pushing away the shame she'd felt burning at her core for her own tears. Her pulse was racing still, but the hiccups were a little more subdued as she slowly began to calm. Estrid didn't dare try to look at him, the embarrassment would not let her just yet. She simply clung to him tightly, her head dizzy and heart heavy. Innocently, she hoped that somehow, Annyn knew he was mourned. She hoped every sadness he had ever felt, every pain of his life was washed away the moment the Ascended One welcomed him home.

Estrid hoped, above all else, that the Ascended One's embrace felt as warm as Pyrede's felt to her in that moment.