>>6187619You have only ever met Sandora Mirari, no other Magus of the Throne. Your impression of them as mighty, self-centred and arrogant figures has been clearly reinforced by dealing with the blonde Asterite. Though you’ll admit she has grown on you.
And also — even in her darkest moments she has maintained a sliver of her pride.
The thing choking and sputtering on the floor does not.
It holds onto a semblance of human form, its flesh streaked with metal and marble, cooked to a black crisp, enveloped in fumes where the light of the Sanction impacted on it. It whimpers and wheezes, its six limbs coming out at a different angle each out of a central lump of cooked flesh.
One of it eyes open weakly, regarding you with fear. Its black pupils contracts to a pinpoint of mad panic.
Sandora does not speak. She holds the metal shackles that will enslave it to eternity, or at least until the towers of the Treviri Throne will stand upon the hunched backs of Mages.
Sandora does not look glad — just exhausted.
You expect her to provide him with one of her witty quips. She has the same look you remember seeing on the faces of children when they took part at a funeral, back when you lived on the lake shores.
Understanding that this, one day, would be their destiny too.
“It’s time,” you say, getting closer. You point your sword at the choking amalgamation. “Let’s finish this. You will have your shackled Asterite, and I will have—”
“— your anointment, right? Giving your soul to Ansàrra.” Willow asks from behind you. Her hand has left her sword and she holds it against her breastplate, which hangs open.
Is it the vapour from the crater or you see something beneath her cloth?
“Yes,” you blink.
Becoming an actual Knight.
Taking your family in.
It all came down to this.
“I know,” Willow whispers. Her eyes shine with a veil of tears as she walks up to the Asterite, who is handling her shackles, opening them. “I am doing this for you.”
[cont.]
