TW: Injury, illness, blood, death

The first thing Roche registered was the soft hum of voices, both within her head and outside it. She groaned, trying to escape the pounding within her temples and the iciness that had frozen her veins, but the voices kept her awake.

"Venom of an uskoi..."

"We know, great Striga. We will do all that we can."

"I will stay until she is healed."

"We cannot risk her. If a single drop of inkblood is misplaced during the healing process, she will die."

"She is made of ink. What do you suppose her fevered thoughts will do?"

"We don't know. Please, great Striga. We would not endanger the Ala. We've all sacrificed much for her already, we would not see her harmed."

That name. It pricked through Roche's mind, drawing an image to mind. Sparkling green eyes, bright and beautiful, commanding yet kind. A queen in name and fate.

"Tigris," Roche murmured, stretching her fingers out, seeking the warmth of her queen, her friend. Where was her lady? She was supposed to be by the queen's side...

"She is delirious. Her thoughts are raving."

"Then we must work quickly. Goodbye, great Striga. Hopefully, we will meet again."

There were hands pressing against her, words cradling her. Their chanting made her blood boil and the air churn, yet there was peace within the chaos. Roche sank into the tranquillity, surrendering her thoughts to the soothing words.

-------

Hands roughly grabbed her, hauling her upright. Roche blinked, struggling to tug her consciousness out of the mires of sleep. Around her, voices raged.

"She's not ready-"

"If she stays here, she will die. The traitor will see her dead. Where is the next suitable location?"

"The Northern Mountains."

"Then that is where we must take her."

There was a scream in the distance, followed by an explosion. A familiar voice tore through the air, bellowing words that swirled in Roche's muddled mind. She struggled to place it. Her heart perked at the deep voice, the voice of a friend. But why was that voice so furious? Why did it sound so detached?

She tried to open her eyes, to peer at the scene before her, but her strength flagged at the simple effort. A hand slipped beneath her shoulders, holding her upright.

"Sleep now, Ala," a voice murmured in her ears. More hands wrapped around her, holding her up. They were warm, warmer than the ice flooding through her veins. Roche nestled into their touch as someone else whispered, "All right, time to go."

There was air brushing her face, reminiscent of obsidian feathers tickling her cheeks, and Roche was pulled back into oblivion.

-------

The coldness was unbearable. Roche couldn't hide from it any longer. She surfaced to frigid fingers of ice tapping against her cheeks, frigid wind howling in her ears. She managed to blink her eyes open with a groan.

"Ala? Ala, please awaken. I need you to walk, please. I cannot carry you on my own."

The voice was kind but unfamiliar, and Roche immediately rose to alertness. Her lashes were tinged white with snowflakes, and she struggled to balance on the icy ground. Thankfully, there was an arm supporting her. She turned, blinking at the stranger who held her.

He was lanky and tall, his skin as pale as the snow around them. Ginger hair hung from his head in thick, luscious locks, brushing his shoulders. A thin scruff of hair dotted his chin, peppered white with snow. The man peered at her intently with soulful dark eyes.

Roche managed to open her mouth, noticing belatedly that she felt much more lucid than her fuzzy memories were.

"Wha..." she managed to say, her throat as dry as sandpaper. The man quickly pulled out a waterskin, holding it to her lips. The frigid water did nothing to warm her, but it cleared her racing mind enough for her to hold a thought. She had been with Tigris. She'd been in the middle of the forest with an uskoi biting into her calf.

And now she was in a frozen tundra, feeling like hell had frozen over, with only a stranger holding her upright. She moved to pull away, but nearly crumpled the moment he lost his grip on her. She was saved from falling face first into the icy ground by the stranger's strong hands, worn and calloused.

"Who are you?" she croaked as she was hauled upright, "Where are we? Where's Tigris?"

"Your queen is safe, Ala," the man assured her, blinking in concern, "Can you walk?"

The name sent a jolt through Roche's weak body, intensifying the dull ache in her bitten leg. She cast out her inkblood, stifling a cry as pain cracked through her with the simple act. It was worth it when she felt the dull hum of inkblood reply to her from the man's veins. He stiffened as the wind flowed over them, shifting his sleeves to reveal familiar markings.

"You're a librarian," Roche realised. The man nodded, shuffling forward. Roche struggled to get her feet under her, lurching forward. Pain forked up her leg, as poignant as a lightning strike. She swallowed back a cry, barely managing to focus on the soft rasp of her companion's words.

"Indeed I am, Ala. My name is Kairon, my lady."

"Call me Roche," Roche managed to wheeze in reply, blinking away the tears of pain that sprang to her eyes unbidden. They froze along her lashes instantly. The cold bit into her thin dress, and she shivered. "Where are we?"

"We're near the Northern Mountains, milady," Kairon answered, grunting when Roche's wounded leg faltered and he struggled to support her weight. Roche apologised with a hiss. "I'm sorry, Ala. You aren't well but we mustn't stop. We need to get you to the mountains."

Roche's mind whirled. "I don't understand. I was in the forest..."

"You were bitten by an uskoi and the last Striga brought you to my coven for healing. I'm sorry, Ala. I wouldn't have moved you until you were fully healed if not for the traitor prince. We couldn't let him have you."

Roche startled so badly that she nearly slipped again. "Finn came to your coven?" she spluttered.

Kairon's face darkened considerably. "Destroyed it, more like." The man's voice was stormy and choked all at once. Bright, grievous emotion burned in his eyes like a sacred funeral pyre. "He killed them all. Those that survived agreed to hold him back while you and I escaped."

Shock blew through Roche along with sharp grief. For a moment, the haze of fever lifted from her mind and the ache of her leg dulled to a mere throb.

"What?" she gasped in shock, "Finn killed an entire coven?"

Kairon grimaced. "He's been killing all of the covens, Ala. It is why the Striga had such trouble finding us, we were in hiding."

Roche's mind was a flurry of stunned thoughts. "Why the covens?" she asked aloud before she could stop herself, "He has bore no ill will to your kind in the past."

"Indeed. But he has been amongst the dead. Their whispers have flooded his ears. He knows that the Ala is his doom, and he intends to find out who you are." Kairon's dark eyes bore into into hers, shadowed with heavy grief. "He follows us now. We must make haste."

Roche shuddered in pain as she tried to urge her trembling body faster. Kairon kept a careful grip on her, bearing most of her weight with no complaint as Roche numbly accepted the information he had given her with.

"He killed an entire coven," she whispered, utterly harrowed, "To find out who I am." Guilt churned her gut. Orpheus' face sprang to her mind, unbidden. Children had been slaughtered because of her secret.

Kairon seemed to misunderstand her. "Ala, no one revealed your identity," he assured her, unaware of the horror that exploded within Roche as he added, "None of the covens have. They'd all rather die than reveal you."

Roche could picture them all now. A sea of faces, young and old, staring defiantly into the faces of Finn's shadow army. She could envision them, lips sealed shut, fighting agonised screams as Finn's monsters tore into them, tearing their flesh apart with wet rips.

Tears streamed down Roche's face in earnest, and her breath hitched with silent sobs as she trudged through the knee deep snow. Her limbs were numb.

"Gods, I'm sorry, Kairon. I didn't know. I had no idea this was happening." Roche said mournfully, and Kairon stiffened beside her with surprise. Warmth bloomed in his expression, like an ember in the dying ashes of a fire.

"Ala, it is any librarian's honour to die for you."

The words made Roche feel more ill than she already was. She didn't have the strength to argue as more faces filled her mind. She pictured each and every one, mourning them quietly. It was the least she could do.

"The healing ritual," she murmured after a moment, trying to break the sombre silence that had sprung up between them, "How will it be completed?"

Kairon hurried her along, sliding her along the thin ice. Roche chanced a glance behind her. Through the shifting motes of snow, she could the faintest flicker of flames in the distance, the sign of their pursuers.

"The healing is already complete, Ala," Kairon replied, not breaking his stride even when the ice cracked beneath their feet. Roche didn't dare stop and wait for the ice to give way. She hurried her half frozen body after the librarian as he explained, "Well, my part of the healing ritual is done. It will take a few hours for the healing to complete itself, but there is no more that I will do."

Roche's heart jumped in her chest as the ice cracked audibly beneath the thin soles of her shoes again. She swallowed back her fear, noticing the eerie calm of Kairon' face. "Then why are we heading towards the mountains?" she asked, "Couldn't we return to the city?"

Kairon bit his lip, snow turning his ginger hair white. "Just as the burning of my coven was destined, Ala, so is a ritual. There is something you must see today, and I have been chosen to show you."

Roche would have been shocked if she had the energy to be. She chanced another glance behind her. Retreat wasn't an option, not with the approaching torch flames that meant Finn was on their tail. And Roche was in no condition to fight him. Up ahead, a familiar mountain range came into view. She recognised it as the place Brom had led her, where she had taken a test with Tigris during the omphalos debacle.

Her inkblood perked up as they neared the mountains, buzzing dully in her veins like it too was frozen. A memory from long ago surfaced in her mind, a time when Finn was still on her side and Tigris was still a princess. She remembered Orpheus gazing at her from within the mountain, within a room painted with ancient runes that glowed with power. She remembered Tarak's voice echoing in her mind.

Remember this place, Ala. You'll need it soon, if the coven's prophecies are to be believed.

Maybe she said the words out loud because Kairon was nodding at her in agreement, murmuring, "The day has come, Ala."

Roche's leg faltered beneath her, her strength flagging. She cursed herself, cursed her weakness. So many had died to protect her. She should be stronger. She growled, trying to force herself to march up the stairs curving up the walls, glowing with powerful runes she barely felt. Despite her efforts, Kairon ended up practically carrying her when they reached the familiar room where Roche had once sat with Tigris, a poisoned knife sitting between them.

You're the future queen, Tigris. You can't die here.

I'm just your maid. You're the princess. My life... doesn't matter.

Sorry, Roche. I'm a princess. You can't tell me what to do.

The memories hit Roche in a rush, and a longing filled her for a different time. Kairon didn't guide her to the large stone table, as ancient and large as Roche remembered it being. He swerved around the highbacked chairs, lifting Roche in his arms. He deposited her near the walls instead, the large walls that stretched to the ceiling like a cathedral, swirling with runes that pulsated with an eternal kind of power. They thrummed like the heart of the earth, a force that would exist long past the time of humankind. The runes swirled together into a murky, reflective, midnight surface of pure inkblood, richer than any source of power Roche had ever felt. She lifted a hand to touch the surface when she remembered how Orpheus and Tarak had used the swirling, mirror-like surface to step out of the mountains, using it to transport themselves to another land. Roche quickly retracted her hand, and Kairon noticed the movement as he crouched next to her.

"Ah, so you've seen the mirrors before. The prophecies said you would have," he mused aloud. Before Roche could get a word in, he kneeled, reaching into his boot. He pulled out a thin blade. Roche's breath caught in her throat, but Kairon made no move against her. He simply shifted her wiry body in front of her so that both of them were pressed into the space beside the mirror.

"I don't have much time," Kairon murmured, his voice deep and grave. He placed the simple knife on the ground between them with reverence. Roche noticed his hands trembling as he did so.

"Kairon..." she trailed off, unsure what to say or do to comfort him. This moment was clearly one that the man had been waiting for, and she had no idea to help. She felt the seconds tick by like grains of sand in a deadly hourglass, marking Finn's approach.

The librarian sucked in a breath at the sound of his name, his eyes snapping to Roche's. Oddly, the sight of her seemed to calm him.

"Did you know," he began slowly, pressing his palms flat against the icy ground, "That the day I was born, my entire coven knew that they would die?"

The words stunned Roche into complacent silence. Kairon smiled ruefully.

"The moment after my birth, the head librarian of my coven collapsed under the weight of a prophecy. The prophecy of the Ala and the Fyra. He knew then that the time of an age of balance, an end to Romulus' reign of terror, was near. And he foresaw the battle that took place today, the battle that killed our coven."

Kairon's pale fingertips, as white and thin as a fragile bone, lifted from the ground. The wild scent of inkblood filled the air. Around them, the mirrors began to darken with swirled patterns, like the last traces of cocoa being mixed into a warm drink of hot chocolate. Roche couldn't tear her eyes away from the librarian's face, from the gleam that sprang to his midnight eyes. He held her gaze, his breath hitching.

"That day, my mother named me Kairon. She named me death. I was born to die and to mark the death of my people."

His fingers abruptly wrapped around the knife. Roche cried out as he drew it across the skin of his elbow in a quick swipe until she noticed the inkblood that had coagulated on the blade. Kairon let the metal sit against the wound, his inkblood slowly seeping out of him, gathering on the thin blade. He didn't flinch, not even when crimson began to leak from the wound.

"I was raised upon the prophecies that the head librarian saw upon my birth. I was raised upon the prophecy and vision that I must share with you now." Kairon continued, his eyes never leaving Roche's face. They gleamed with a fervent intensity as the last of his inkblood drained from his wound. He cupped it between his fingers, the substance thick and gelid. He brought it close to his lips and whispered,

"Eidull kowtheiol hoiska aimgrow ol xeo."

He flicked part of the mix of his ink and blood towards the mirror. Roche watched, entranced and wary as the surface of the mirror began to swirl faster and faster, like a nightmarish carnival ride. Roche's mind spun along with it until she was so absorbed in the sight that the rest of the room faded around her. Her vision cleared, and she was no longer in the Northern Mountains. She was on a battlefield that teemed with corpses. They stared at her with unseeing, lifeless eyes as she drew her gaze up to the sky. Dark, shadowy creatures flitted about, blocking out the meagre sun that was shadowed by a thunderous storm. The air cracked with obsidian lightning. An unearthly howl drew goosebumps to the surface of her numb skin. She watched the skies churn, like the land was ripping itself away from the storm brewing. Darkness exploded, a rift yawning open before her.

The realm that stared back at her was one that Roche would never forget for all her days. Many faces peered back at her. Those that she had murdered to keep her queen safe. Those that she had lost in the name of destiny. Souls and spirits, damned to wander in a land so dark and cold that Roche couldn't believe anyone had survived it.

But one man had.

And he stood, holding that portal to the realm of the dead up. An eerie smile spread across his face, madness lined into every damning syllable pouring from his mouth. Finn cackled, thunder crashed across the sky, and the portal lifted towards the sun to reveal a losing battle in the background. Tigris was fighting before a dilapidated castle, so broken that it could barely be considered a castle. Only a single tower remained of precarious stone.

Roche watched, entranced, as a figure rose up to meet her valiant queen. Tigris whirled around from an assailant, fresh blood staining her sword. The queen was assured in her fighting, caught in her element as a warrior, so Roche didn't expect her to falter when she turned to face her next opponent.

Roche's blood chilled as Tigris' face went slack with shock. To her horror, the queen lowered her sword, a name upon her lips, confusion creasing her features.

And Roche watched as her opponent thrust the sword into her queen's abdomen with no hesitation.

Roche felt the sword plunge into the queen like she was the one being stabbed. She roared in agony, reaching out as the light in Tigris' eyes guttered, like a candle blown out.

The embers sputter in the hands of the traitor, the city fades to ashes, flame extinguished.

A prophecy from long ago echoed in Roche's ears like the gleeful voice of a ghost as Tigris; killer turned. Roche's grieving howls stilled as her eyes locked on his face.

Orpheus had grown since she'd last seen him. He was tall, a lean, toned adolescent now. His bronze eyes glowed, as haunting and unsettling as ever as they met Roche's eyes. His dark hair, as unruly and wild as ever, shifted as he turned to stare at Tigris' fallen body.

And then he smiled.

Roche bellowed in rage, charging forward. Then she blinked, and the battlefield had disappeared. She was back in the mountain. An ache radiated through her, so intense that she leaned to the side and gasped, vomit rising in her throat. Nothing was as sickening, as horrifying as the sight she'd just witnessed. Her mind latched onto the slight widening of Tigris' beautiful green eyes in the moment before she'd been stabbed. She replayed the moment that Tigris' body had teetered, impaled by a thin slip of a sword. She could still hear the thunk of her queen's body sagging to the side.

The embers sputter in the hands of the traitor, the city fades to ashes, flame extinguished.

"No," Roche whispered frantically, "No, no, no. It's not real."

Kairon watched her solemnly. He didn't pause in his ministrations as Roche emptied her gut. His cool fingers pressed against her skin, slick with inkblood. He traced shapes across her skin. It took Roche a moment to pause her fury and realise that he was painting runes on her flesh with the last vestiges of his inkblood.

"I'm afraid it is," he murmured quietly, holding her gaze. "The Fyra will face her end at Moiris. You must be with her, or all hope for balance is lost. Destiny cannot be rewritten, Ala, but its outcomes can be changed."

The words did nothing to assuage the all encompassing fear that was drowning out all rational thought in Roche's mind. She heaved for breath, her body protesting. The world was going dark at the edges.

Destiny could not be rewritten.

"She's going to die," Roche gasped out, unable to say anything more, "Oh gods, she's going to die. She can't die. She can't. She... she..."

"Ala," Kairon's voice was sympathetic but stern, "I'm sorry, I wish I could give you more time with this revelation, but the traitor prince approaches. He follows me, I am the last of my coven. Will you remember what I've told you here today?"

Roche startled for a moment, the words shattering through the frantic haze of her mind. She swallowed down her terror methodically, the world still darkening around her. Her strength was waning. "Yes," she breathed, and the words cost her, "I will remember. I will be at my queen's side when she dies."

Kairon leaned back, the faintest traces of ink staining his fingers. He slipped his blade into his sleeve. "Good," the librarian whispered. He leaned forward, tapping one of the runes he painted on her skin, and murmured, "Mon kalid."

Roche sensed inkblood stirring the air, but her mind raced too quickly to discern the effect of the incantation. Kairon stood slowly. His eyes remained locked with hers.

"The traitor prince mustn't find you with me, or else he will know who you are," he said after a long moment. Roche focused, and she was able to hear voices at the base of the stairs. Her heart launched to her throat.

"The mirrors!" she realised after a moment, "We can use the mirrors to escape."

Kairon shook her head, and her weak hope died in her chest. "No, Ala. The traitor will follow me to the ends of the earth if it means finding you. I cannot run from him any longer."

Dread washed over Roche fiercely, like a wave dragging her out to the depths of a sea. She reached forward, only managing to clasp Kairon's ankle. He paused still, gazing at her kindly as Roche insisted, "Then we'll fight him together."

Kairon gazed at her sadly. "I'm sorry, Ala. You aren't yet fully healed. You and I are no match for him at this moment."

Roche noticed then that his fingers were wrapped around his blade. She pulled away, recoiling instinctively, and noticed that the air around her was warped ever so slightly.

"The runes are powerful. They will hide you from the traitor. Once he is gone, you must flee." Kairon warned her as she inspected the flaking symbols drawn on her skin. He rolled his shoulders back determinedly, but he couldn't hide how he trembled. Horror dawned on her, so potent that Roche tasted it like poison on her tongue.

"Kairon, no. There must be another way," Roche pleaded. The voices were getting louder on the steps. Firelight flickered into view. Roche crawled towards him, too weak to stand. Kairon watched her sadly, unmoved.

"I'm the Ala," Roche cried out desperately, noticing how the air seemed to absorb the sound of her voice too. The runes glowed on her skin. She hated them. She hated destiny. She hated this life and the pain those around her were damned to suffer. "I can help!" she begged, her voice raw.

Kairon glanced at the stairs nervously before approaching her quickly. He crouched, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Like she was the one that needed comforting.

Roche nearly laughed at the irony.

"You must live to fight for your Fyra," he told her urgently, his eyes searching hers for something Roche didn't understand. "Please, Ala. You cannot abandon her. Or everything will be for naught."

Roche felt the weight of those desperate words. She'd felt their weight for five years. She swallowed.

"I cannot abandon you either," she whispered.

Kairon smiled. A single tear carved down his cheek, betraying his terror. He bowed his head before her.

"You aren't," he insisted, his voice trembling as the voices neared the threshold of the room. Roche wondered what the scene would look like to Finn, the librarian bowing to nothing but empty air. She stared at him desperately as Karios murmured. "You have your destiny to fulfil, Ala. And I have mine."

The words were a new brand of horror as Roche recalled his earlier words.

I was born to die.

Kairon met her eyes steadily from beneath his lashes. "This is my destiny," he told her quietly, "And I bear it with pride. Let me fulfil it."

And though he shook in the face of his impending doom, his voice held steady. For they were creatures of ink. Words were all they knew, from birth to death. Roche could barely breathe as his words sliced her to her core. She knew there was no arguing with the brave soul before her. She had followed destiny as well, it was all she understood now. She would not deny him his, even though it ripped her soul apart. Because she too had a destiny to fulfil.

Roche let herself nod, and Kairon sagged with the weight of her acceptance. He didn't move as footsteps thundered up the stairs, drawing closer by the second.

"May I ask a favour of you, Ala?" Kairon asked, his words coming out in breathless puffs as he readjusted his grip on his knife.

"Anything," Roche promised weakly. Kairon smiled at her, a small but fierce thing.

"Could you give me your blessing for what is to come?"

He gazed at her reverently. She didn't deserve his worship. She didn't deserve the gratitude that flashed in his eyes as she leaned forward, her muscles contracting painfully as she did so. She placed her palm on his head.

"Go in peace and with my blessing," she breathed, letting her inkblood flow over his skin. The thick substance dripped down his temples, glowing as it traced down his skin. Roche wasn't sure if she'd ever remember the enchantment she was using. She only focused on feeding it with her waning strength as her ink gleamed golden, trailing down his skin and pooling on his forehead. A symbol etched itself into his brow, a symbol that made Roche want to weep.

A single flame.

A servant of the Fyra.

A servant of destiny.

Kairon bowed his head again, one last thanks. Calm settled over his features as the symbol faded, leaving faint ink stains on his pale skin. He pulled away, his body still and not shaking in the slightest as he turned to face the men barrelling into the room. Roche waited for their eyes to snap to her, but it was as if she was a ghost. No one heeded her as one last figure came into view.

Roche barely recognised Finn. His jaw was as sharp as jagged glass, gleaming as pale as a full moon. Dark shadows stained his flesh, pooling under his eyes, all along his arms, squirming and writhing like serpents beneath his flesh, trying to consume him from the inside out. Such malice radiated from him, such darkness that Roche felt her heart sink with the realisation that any wisp of the kind prince that had once existed was gone. His dark curls, grown long and unruly, framed his face like a halo of shadows. His cunning eyes immediately latched onto Kairon, standing tall in the center of the room.

"There's nowhere you can run that I won't find you," Finn said. Roche shivered at his voice, raspy and jagged and icy, like a shadow come to life.

Kairon didn't waver. He lifted his chin defiantly as Finn neared him, prowling closer with the grace of the spirits he'd commandeered.

"Tell me where the Ala is," he ordered, his voice cracking through the air, "Or you will be slain like your traitorous kin,"

Kairon's eyes flashed with the mention of his people. His lips parted, and Finn leaned forward eagerly. Kairon sucked in a breath, his dark eyes gleaming mischievously, like he was ready to share a secret.

"Never," the librarian breathed. Before Finn could react, Kairon whipped out his blade and dragged it across his throat. He spluttered, choking on his own blood for a moment as he toppled over, his head smacking against the large round table Roche had once sat at with Tigris. His knife skittered across the ground, coming to a stop inches before Roche.

She watched numbly as Kairon's eyes drifted towards her once more. The gurgling and struggling stopped the moment their eyes met. A soft smile spread across his features as the light faded from his eyes, and a ghostly pallor settled over his face.

Dead.

Roche bit her knuckle to keep from sobbing as Finn gazed unblinkingly at the corpse before him. Then he sighed defeatedly, turning to his henchmen that cringed away from the spirits wafting around them.

"Where is the next coven?" Finn asked sharply, completely ignoring the cooling body before him. His ally cleared his throat.

"A day's ride south, according to your army," answered the man, glancing nervously at the uska in the room. Finn nodded, turning to move down the stairs.

"Come on, then. If we begin riding now, we'll make the most of the night." Finn's voice echoed down the stairs.

Roche waited until he left, forced to hold the stare of Kairon's unblinking eyes. She listened until she heard Finn's men retreat from the mountains and trudge back into the tundra before she began to weep in earnest, gazing at Kairon's still body. She sobbed and raged, too weak to give him the death rites he deserved.

Her grief crested, rising to a chilling howl that seared her own ears. She barely recognised her strangled voice as she chanted.

"Ekklera mon Circe, Striga! Fyra! Fyra!"

Roche choked out a cry from the depths of her soul that echoed around the room, burning the runes brightly. Kairon's corpse burst into flame as Roche watched the room grow awash with fire and smoke. She wept so hard that she barely noticed when an inkblooded wing curled around her body, dragging her through the mirror and away from the hellish mountains. She could have sworn she saw Kairon smile as his face crumbled to ash, hopefully free from destiny in death as he had not been in life.

Roche raged for him, for his life and the life of the innocent librarians and scribes of the covens long after Circe hauled her through the mirror and into the library, holding her in their feathery grasp as she wailed for all the souls who had been stolen in her name. The Striga hushed her with the weariness of someone who had seen what destiny had to offer, and had resigned themself to misery. They quieted Roche before she dragged the world into her despair of the past, present, and future.

A/N: ... bye Kairon :(

Gah, this hurt to write. I really hate introducing characters just to kill them off, but it felt fitting for Tigris' death prophecy to be introduced with the death of another. It seemed fitting after all the deaths that Roche silently suffered in the name of destiny. And I hope you all enjoyed the return to the Northern Mountains! I couldn't let such a lovely setting go to waste, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if it was only used once in this entire story LOL.

Anyways, coming up next is some lovely hurt and comfort with Tigris :D Hopefully that smooths the terrible events of this chapter.

As always, happy reading!