After fully briefing the queen, Cassandra and Aaron went on to sketch the outline of a plan while the others climbed in with comments and suggestions. All in all, much depended on Queen Aelrida’s ability to alert the right people without tipping off the wrong ones. Making the situation even more perilous were the factions, their intertwined nests of spies, and the vested interests that either worked against her, wanted her deposed, or the monarchy ended entirely.

  Meanwhile, Debryn observed everything with an anxious detachment. Settling into her role of bodyguard, as her erstwhile client took center stage.

  It was close to sunset by the time the group had returned to their rooms.

  She stood watch as the others settled into their surroundings, her sharp eyes flicking between them while her thoughts churned. Debryn asked herself the same question she had asked herself a hundred times before. Why was she here?

  She had chosen to follow Cassandra, but at times like this, she questioned whether she had truly made that choice or simply been swept along by the current. The truth was, none of them seemed entirely certain of their place in this new order. Each of the Saintesses carried themselves differently, yet beneath the surface they all bore the same undercurrents of uncertainty.

  Magda, the legendary arch-wizard. To say, knowing that Cassandra left following this figure of folk tales, tipped the scales when it came to her own decision to tag along, wouldn’t be far from the truth. The woman in question lay reclined on a chaise, her posture casual and unreadable. She moved between quiet introspection and sly, knowing remarks with ease, as if switching roles at will. Debryn watched her with a guarded curiosity. For someone so often spoken of in grand tales told across the realms, Magda appeared far more human than expected. Tired, vulnerable, even fragile at times. The contradiction struck Debryn more than she cared to admit. The infamous woman pulled half-buried from a collapsed ruin, had in some ways more than matched the myth. But, the image of her frail hand poking out of the rubble seemed to signify the truth of sainthood; that they were more mortal than divine.

  Then there was Alex. An outsider in every sense. Nervous, uncertain, yet alarmingly quick to adapt. Despite having no prior knowledge of the realms or their true nature, she had already started carving out a place for herself.

  Debryn had known of the other realms for as long as she could remember. She had left home young, not out of rebellion but out of a restless hunger to understand the world beyond her own. A wandering adventurer, she had tested herself against monsters, bandits, ruins and strange landscapes across half a dozen realms. She had seen things most people only dreamed of. And yet, none of that prepared her for how disorienting this new life as a Saintess truly was.

  What rattled her most was Alex.

  Thrown into the deep end without warning, Alex had no context, no knowledge of magic, realms or the greater war around them. Yet she moved forward as if she belonged. Awkward, yes, but far from paralysed by the enormity of it all. She adapted with startling speed, digging into arcane systems with a mix of trial, error and sheer stubborn insight. And that, more than anything, made Debryn doubt herself.

  Why was she here?

  That whisper of inadequacy had started as a passing insecurity, something she could ignore. But it had grown louder with every passing hour, especially after returning to a place she had long come to abhor.

  Then there was Cassandra. To call their relationship complicated was an understatement. Debryn admired her. She trusted her judgement, believed in her conviction and followed her without hesitation. Her loyalty had not wavered even after the exile, and she had stood beside her through the chaos that followed.

  It was likely that very loyalty, one tested by promises of wealth and threats of violence, that had drawn the Calling to her. And yet, there was always a distance between them. Despite being fallen nobility, the lingering effects of class and upbringing had always been a barrier between them. It was likely the elf had never had any true friendships beyond family. But then again, could she now say the same? Beyond that, Debryn could not shake the feeling that she was always a step behind. Each of them had their powers, but for some reason, hers felt… less. Less powerful, less heroic, less vital, less important, less earned. She was the quiet shadow in Cassandra’s wake, a role she filled well, a role she had accepted as much as chosen. But now, as a Saintess amongst saints, shouldn’t she be more?

  Aaron’s steady leadership and lethality. Magda’s poise and wisdom. Alex’s rapid ascent and earnest desire to grow. All three had reached the rank of True Saint. She had not.

  She had no path to follow and worst of all, she had no idea who to speak to about it. Not to Cassandra who she rarely confided with. Not to Alex. Not even to herself.

  What did it mean to be a Saintess, if the quiet voice in her heart kept insisting she was not worthy?

  A voice broke her introspection.

  “Is it not strange, that despite having our own rooms to rest in, we’ve all gathered here… together in silence?” Magda commented languidly, eyes slitted against a beam of sunlight,

  “I must admit It is rather uncomfortable,” Cassandra agreed.

  “I guess.” Alex blinked out of her thoughts, and spoke with a halting, nervous smile. “Feels a bit too quiet, and you know, unsafe being in my room alone. But you all seem to already know each other, and I… well, part of me’s terrified of coming off weird, or rude.”

  “In what way?” Magda asked.

  Alex started haltingly “Well, I got into astronomy because I wanted to answer one big question: were we, humanity, alone in the universe? And now... here you are. Elves. Fox people. Real living Aliens from other worlds. It’s a lot.”

  “Kitsune,” Debryn corrected gently. “We’re not the same as beastfolk.”

  “Sorry,” Alex said quickly. “And that’s what I mean. I don’t want to put my foot in it. I feel like anything I say might offend someone without meaning to.”

  “Nonsense,” Magda replied, sitting up. “Understanding comes through conversation, not polite silence. Curiosity is only dangerous when we pretend to already know the answers. So speak freely. For instance, Alex, you are from the same realm as Aaron, yes?”

  “Yeah. I lived on the west coast. Uh, let me start over. I was, or I guess I still am an astrophysicist.”

  “What is that? Like astrology?” Cassandra asked, well-meaningly.

  Alex’s expression tightened, and Debryn sensed the weight of a long-standing frustration from a clarification that had likely been repeated one too many times.

  “Yesterday, I would’ve said, definitely not. But now? Magic is real, so who knows? Maybe astrology isn’t completely made up of rubbish too..” She shrugged. “Anyway, what I actually did was study space. Not to divine secrets from the stars, but to understand them. Their formation, the fabric of reality. It's structure and Humanity’s place in all of it. I was good at it too. And now that I’m here… now that I know Aaron used to be the Saint of Time... it’s got me thinking.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Oh?” Magda asked, her interest rising.

  Alex hesitated, then pressed on. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I wonder if easy access to magic or these higher-order concepts… Maybe it slows down growth in other areas? Like science? Or engineering?” She cringed. “Sorry, that sounded offensive, didn’t it?”

  Magda raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. There may be some truth in what you’re saying.”

  Debryn folded her arms. Magic, as a bloodline talent, had always felt like an extension of her body, as natural as breath or balance. Hearing it framed as a limitation unsettled her. “You think magic held us back? Stopped us from truly understanding things like space and time?”

  “Just... less driven to explore what you can’t immediately control. Back home, magic wasn’t real, so we kept asking bigger questions. Here, you can just wave your hand and heal grievous wounds or cut apart a giant.” Alex clarified.

  Cassandra nodded slowly. “Perhaps that is why the Vox Vitae called Saints from many worlds. To fill in the gaps the others never saw.”

  Why was she here?

  Debryn asked herself for the umpteenth time. The door creaked open and an elven maid entered, quietly wheeling in a tray of refreshments. The conversation continued, each of them taking turns to introduce themselves and speak of their worlds and upbringings.

  Alex described a realm without magic, but with towers that scraped the clouds and machines that could cross continents in mere days if not hours. Magda painted a picture of a ruined world where corruption and conflict ruled, where power alone secured survival. She had been forced to grow strong or be cast aside, or worse.

  Cassandra spoke warmly of her time with Debryn, their companionship forged during exile. She described a realm that seemed civilised on the surface but was no stranger to despotism. Her gratitude for Debryn’s loyalty was clear in every word.

  Gradually, the conversation slowed. One by one, the Saintesses yawned and slipped into sleep. At first, Debryn thought little of it. It had been a long day after all. But when Cassandra slumped against the arm of the sofa, her head lolling to one side at an odd angle, Debryn’s instincts screamed.

  She hadn’t sensed anything in the food or drink, nor picked up any unfamiliar scent despite her kitsune senses being dozens of times sharper than any elfs. But something had clearly been added. She tried to rouse Cassandra without success. Panic surged. She was just about to call for the sword saint when she heard footsteps outside the room.

  And then she made a decision.

  She dropped onto the sofa and stilled her body, letting her limbs go limp. Her breathing slowed, shallow and even. Her ears twitched once, then settled.

  She played dead, the door opened and soft whispers followed.

  “There was a man. Where is he?”

  “Check the rooms. The black-haired woman carries an artefact. Kill the rest.”

  The voices spoke in elven. Two or three sets of footsteps entered and spread out to check the rooms, their movements deliberate and quiet. Debryn heard the hiss of metal and caught the faintest scent of steel and sweat laced with impending violence.

  She waited, her claws flexed slightly, the tips glistening, laced with her most lethal venom. Let them come closer, let them think she was helpless.

  She lunged claws first with a snarl. A dagger stabbed into her right hand; she ignored the wound as her left plunged into the surprised face of the elven guard before her. He convulsed. Her thumb gouged out his eye socket, the claws of her fingers tearing at his cheek as her venom took hold. She grunted, removing the dagger from her hand before tucking it into her belt, not before noticing the coating of black grease on the poisoned blade.

  Thankfully, unlike the rest, Debryn was resistant, if not immune, to most mundane poisons.

  Steps rushed in from the other rooms. Two more assassins stormed in, just as their comrade fell to the floor, his bowels voiding even as he spasmed uncontrollably in what she knew would be a short and painful death. One of the assassins raised a crossbow and fired. Debryn’s magic flared. Mana was drawn from her core and the missile was reflected back at her attacker.

  Unfortunately, armoured in chainmail and plate, the bolt plinked off his armour as the other one rushed in. A wild swing of a mace followed. She dodged, even as a sword came in from another angle to box her in. She came in close, her right hand pulsing with pain but still able to scratch and claw. She fell to a low stance as she aimed at the exposed parts of their armour, the inner thighs, the back of a knee. But two against one, unarmed and unarmoured, her openings were scant. She allowed the mace wielder to get close, sidestepping to place him between her and his comrade, and went for the grapple after missing his face. He was strong, too strong.

  An Ascended. Strength or Toughness, she realised too late, as her throw was reversed and she was sent halfway across the room. Her tail swirling as she twisted to land on all fours.

  The man who had thrown her stared at her in confusion and rage, as his ally foamed at the mouth, an elven dagger sticking out of his knee.

  He raced at her, no longer hiding his strength, as a wall of force ripped up the furniture in the room. Debryn was knocked back, choosing to use her damaged hand to block the projected effects of a Higher Order Concept. She screamed as her arm and shoulder broke, and before she could blink her watery eyes open, the mace was raised high above, poised to deliver the crushing blow.

  A flash of sword light.

  Mace and hands fell to the floor, as the vicious snarl of an enraged assassin turned into confusion and horror.

  The helm was pulled back, the buckles pressing against his neck as Aaron’s boot buckled knee’s and forced him to the ground. Debryn stood hastily to her feet.

  “Can you paralyse him? Knock him out so we can question him after?” Aaron said all too calmly.

  Debryn nodded, then slashed with her left hand, a paralytic poison causing the armless elven man in Aaron’s grasp to fall limp.

  “Won’t he bleed out?”

  “Maybe. If he’s lucky, but Ascended are usually made of sterner stuff.” Aaron held his sword over the man, as if deliberating whether or not to finish him off there and then.

  “He’s out.”

  “You can tell?” he confirmed.

  She nodded, then groaned as she cradled her pulsing, fractured arm. “What took you so long?” Debryn scowled in as much relief as annoyance.

  “Decided to have a nap. Been a long day. Looks like it’ll be a long night. Besides, seemed like you had it under control.” Aaron sheepishly admitted.

  “They’ve been poisoned,” Debryn reminded.

  “Do you have a remedy? Know what poison was used?”

  Debryn shook her head. “Something in the food, odourless and tasteless but mundane.”

  Aaron nodded. “Watch him and listen for reinforcements.” He strode over to Cassandra and withdrew a box from his Ring of Holding.

  Debryn watched as he rifled through the strange green box filled with bottles and bandages, before retrieving what seemed to be an unusual syringe from inside.

  “What’s that?” Debryn asked as the man checked Cassandra’s pulse and readied his syringe.

  “Adrenaline,” Aaron said, tapping the object before aiming and plunging the needle into her heart.

  Cassandra gasped awake. Aaron removed the syringe before getting the wild-eyed elf to focus.

  “Cassandra, Cassandra, I’m going to need you to take a breath and listen. We don’t have much time,” he said with a calm assurance Debryn believed came from a lifetime of experience.

  “Mmmmhmmm, Yes?” Cassandra slurred.

  “Cassandra, can you heal yourself? You’ve been poisoned.”

  She stared at him, confused for a moment, before the aura of a familiar energy soothed through her, her dilated pupils constricting as she groaned, then threw up. Aaron hurried out of the way before packing up his supplies.

  “Cassie?” Debryn asked, hesitating between watching the prisoner and assisting her friend. “Cassandra, if you’d check on the others. They're alive, but I’m not sure how bad their poisoning is.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, only now coming to her senses. Her gaze swept over the wrecked room, the overturned furniture, and the lifeless bodies of the guards. Without wasting another moment, she rushed to Alex, then to Magda, repeating the same healing technique.

  Just as she had drawn the poison from her own system with an involuntary purge that left her shaking, she now guided the toxin from their bodies. Her hands glowed faintly as she worked. One by one, the worst of the venom was expelled, leaving each Saintess gasping awake, but groggy, their skin regaining colour.