>>6313449“I—I…” Bragia shivers.
“We will take care of her,” Fra’ Catena says, coming closer and gently picking up Esta’s figure, as Candeloro helps him by keeping her steady, already reaching into his backpack for vials of hallowed oils to help her wounds. “You do what you were made for,” he says, tilting his head towards the Sister, who has not moved an inch, still looking at them like a handful of ants performing for her delight.
His words strike something inside you.
“What you were <span class="mu-i">made</span> for?” You ask, shifting your gaze between the Stilladìa in her present form and her past one.
“Since the beginning,” she replies. “Since the first time a black, six-fingered hand pulled me out of the broken ruins of my old home. The gilded spider knows how to be patient.”
A scream makes you jolt.
Bragia raises her head from where it hangs, her grip on her weapon growing stronger.
That Kiengir gaze that’s like having your thoughts painted over with blue varnish shifts to her mace.
<span class="mu-s">Alala! Tukùl.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Look at you. Morningstar.</span>
And Bragia, weapon held up on high, dashes ahead once more. This time, nobody steps ahead of her, to stop her, to protect her, to hinder her.
Merope, the incarnated Kiengir, opens her arms to welcome Ansàrra’s most loved child.
<span class="mu-s">Ge-nammàda.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Come with me.</span>
[cont.]
