21. Winged Demon #4
“Is that the kind of demon you came across before?”
“No. Those were more like hounds.”
“But it was a demon, yes?”
“Yes, a soulless. I couldn’t read any kind of soul signature within.”
“So there’s no knowing what—or how many—have made their way through.”
“No. And that means we need to make contact with my brothers. They may already know, but the sooner we reach them, the sooner we can make a plan to seal the openings and hunt whatever has slipped through.”
“I can’t go to the city just yet.” She steadies herself, though there’s still a slight lag in her movements. “I’m running low on elixir. I need to stock back up before we go, or what happened will happen again—and there won’t be any way to reverse it.”
“So where to?”
“My home.”
“Which is?”
She turns slowly, scanning the forest as if trying to place herself within it. Then she pulls something from her pocket.
A compass.
She moves it a little to the left.
Adjusts.
Makes a small shift to the right.
“This way,” she says at last. “But I’m not sure how far. This forest isn’t familiar… and I don’t know how long I was out.”
I push out my awareness toward Nexus and call her back to me.
“Half a day,” I tell the priestess, and she seems relieved by this.
Her gaze darts away. “Did I… do anything odd?”
“Such as?”
She pulls her other blade from the creature's back and shrugs, using her cloak to clean it while wearing a scowl. Not meeting my gaze, she continues, “Anything…I don’t know. Just sometimes I get these weird dreams, and I can’t control them.”
“You said something.”
She glances at me, wary. “Like what?”
“Recited passages. Or spoke like you were reciting scripture.”
“Oh.” She exhales softly, then shrugs—too casual to be real. One brow lifts. “That’s… yes, that happens on occasion too. Did I say anything interesting?”
“A few things.” I gesture toward the corpse behind us. “But we should probably get the hell out of here. Death calls to the dead. If other demons are nearby, this will draw them in. We need to move—and cover our scent. It’s probably best if we travel by horseback.”
I don’t give voice to my inability to stay airborne much longer.
“But the horses?” She scans the trees, tension lingering in the set of her shoulders. “Where are they?”
“Already on their way. Nexus will find me.”
She starts forward again. I fall into step beside her, shortening my stride without thinking.
“You can do that?” she asks, glancing at me briefly. “Call her to you?”
“Yes.” My gaze stays forward. “It’s our bond. She’ll always be able to find me. And I, her.”
Silence settles between us as we move through the forest, keeping to the thicker canopy to avoid the light rainfall.
After a while, she speaks again—quieter this time. “Are you going to tell me what I said… when I was out?”
I glance sideways at her. “Are you going to tell me where you got the liquid in those vials?”
She slows slightly, her gaze drifting ahead as she considers.
“My Order,” she says at last. “The leaders had stores of it. I’m not sure where they got it, but they had it, and it was gifted to me when I was selected to be the last of us.”
“The last of who exactly?”
“The Children of the Blessed.”
“Why the last? Did they…?”
She doesn’t look at me. Her gaze drops instead, fixed on the ground as she walks.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “They’re all dead now. I’m the only one left.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”
She lets out a faint breath—something between a scoff and a laugh. “Probably more so than you can even imagine.”
“Tell me about them,” I press, more gently this time. “The women—I assume it was only women in your Order?”
“There were men,” she says, brushing damp strands of hair back from her face. “But few. They were our leaders—the ministers, the Grand Minister. But yes… the Sisterhood was made up of women.”
“Like a convent?”
“In a way.”
“When did you join?” I glance at her. “Or I suppose—why?”
She looks at me, then a flicker of something sharper in her expression. “Join?”
“Yes. Surely you had a reason for choosing such a calling.”
“I didn’t choose it.” Her voice quiets again. “I was born into it.”
My steps slow before I realize it, coming to a stop.
She takes a few more before noticing and turns back to face me. “What?”
“Born into it?”
“Yes.” She shifts her weight slightly, arms drawing in closer to her body. “And selected to be one of the Chosen sisters to receive special study in history and religious texts.”
“Such as?”
“I’d rather not speak of it.” Her gaze drops again. “If that’s okay.” A small pause. “It’s hard to explain… and I still miss them. Being alone is… not like I thought it would be.”
She turns away before I can respond, continuing forward.
She doesn’t look at me again.
But I feel it.
The shift in her.
Her aura darkens—layered with grief, anger… and something heavier beneath it all.
Shame.
Guilt.
It presses against me, so heavy I feel bowed by its weight.
She doesn’t ask me to, but I carry it with her all the same. Because in a way, it feels like the kind of burden that, if shared, might offer her comfort.