A/N: And so it begins in earnest. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Many thanks to The Silent Poet for their review and the tips/info. I am so spamming you w/ more Draenei-related questions in the near-future. /hug

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

124 Days Earlier

"…nd so be unafraid of death, my brothers, my sisters! We have seen what is reaped when we grant death power over us! We have seen what fearing it does! We battle the evil born of such a blasphemous union each day! We give those who would consort with death free reign when we give it a place in our hearts! It is because we were afraid to die that the unholy abominations of the risen dead now surround us and corrupt our homeland and our people! So do not fear death, brothers and sisters! When you have sufficiently served your purpose, when you have served the Light, it shall come for you, and be not afraid to go into its arms! For certainly, a true death is but a path in the Light. Falter, and you would know the tain…"

Whatever remained of the esteemed preacher's sermon faded into unintelligible—if spirited—vociferations as Tenaebriis entered the small, adjoining study from the main hall of yet another of Tyr's Hand's churches. Having so many holy houses was certainly a great blessing, but she certainly wished her commander would stay in one.

Perhaps I ought to speak with her on the topic. She thought idly. It would do no good to have to search her out in time of crisis.

Rapping firmly on the doorframe, Tenaebriis saluted and assumed a proper position as she waited to be acknowledged, hand fisted over her heart and head bowed. She had to wait only a few moments before the scratching of a quill on parchment ceased and the High General murmured for her to enter.

"High General Abbendis." She saluted, and Brigitte nodded at her, standing from behind her desk with a sigh. Spread around her were maps of the Plaugelands and the Eastern Kingdoms, letters and correspondences, ink-splattered, scrawled pages, and various forms and reports.

"Legionnaire Dawnslayer." She stretched, rubbing a sword-calloused hand over her face. "By the Holy Light, Teni. I haven't seen so much activity in a long while."

Tenaebriis smiled slightly at her old nickname, but creased her brow at her commander's unrestraint. She must be stressed to be so familiar.

"Be well, Brig. The Light will preserve us. You are far too driven to allow paperwork be the death of you."

"Hah! Say that again once you've got your own army to lead, Teni. You'll be wishing you'd left your hair short, then."

"I rather like it this like this. And didn't you used to say there was little enough of me as was?"

"That's because you were thin then, and you're thin as bones now. Am I missing something?"

"There's less of me for those forsaken corpses to grab on to this way, you know."

"So that's why you're all but bone and sinew?"

No. I'm thin because everything I eat is ashes on my tongue, all my drink blood. Food does not sustain me: all I taste is my vengeance.

"Of course. You realize I must be able to strategize at my rank, yes?"

"All I ask is that you care for yourself, Tenaebriis. The Crusade cannot afford to be without you: we need every righteous hand, and I know few of higher than yours."

"I will not jeopardize our mission, Brigitte. Do not ever become fool enough to think so."

"If you were anyone else, Teni…" Brigitte warned, her eyes hard, and Tenaebriis bit her tongue fiercely for her mistake.

"I apologize, High General." She said evenly, dropping to one knee. "I have misspoken to one who supercedes me in the Light. Punish me as you so see fit, I beg you."

"Just stand up, Teneabriis." Brigitte sighed, and she was on her feet immediately. "I have an assignment for you."

"Yes, my lady?"

"I need you to take over the training of our recruits. I know it is below you, but you are the most skilled fighter we have, and I need the greatest army I can have."

"Nothing you see fit for me to do is below me, High General. I am but a servant of the Light."

"As are we all." Waving a hand at her, Brigitte rounded her desk and began shifting papers. "Go, Legionnaire. And if you should find one, send a Cleric to me. My head is beginning to ache."

"Would you not allow me to heal you, High General?" Tenaebriis asked, one corner of her mouth quirking upwards. Brigitte laughed loudly.

"You and I both know your healing proficiency is awful as sin, Teni. Go, and may the Light go with you."

"And you, High General." Saluting once more, Tenaebriis spun on her heel and marched out, intent on hunting down a priest.

When she arrived at the designated training yard some time later, having sent a healer to the High General, Tenaebriis caught her first glimpse of the young men and women she was to be molding into warriors of Light.

And was sadly disappointed.

There were, perhaps, twenty-some recruits scattered amidst the packed-earth expanse and battered dummies. The majority seemed to be men, but only just. Counting quickly, she assessed that there were fourteen boys and ten girls, and only one woman appeared to be any older than her late twenties. In all likelihood, she was Tenaebriis's senior.

Ha. Only one your senior? You're old. Thirty doesn't get you much, these days. In fact, you're blessed to have lived this long.

Returning her apt attention to the newlings, she noted with disdain that many were either standing casually, shoulders slumped, or outright sitting about as they chatted with one another. The slightly elder woman stood straight, hands behind her back, talking quietly with a younger man, perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight, who kept his shoulders back, though he seemed to be putting all his weight on one foot, his hip jutting out.

Had no one informed these slops that their superior and now-armsmaster would soon be upon them? If so, they certainly needed to be punished: this was no way to greet their standing officer.

And if not, well, some reprimand was still necessary. Members of the most holy Scarlet Crusade did not slouch.

Seeing that none of the recruits had seemed to notice her yet, she decided to make an overly extravagant entrance. And enjoy the hoopla.

Pulling her winged helm firmly over her head, she loosened Redemption in her sheath on her back and summoned a cloak of holy light around her, allowing it to arch and wreath as it would. Breathing in deeply, she cast a simple spell to amplify her voice, and stormed onto the grounds.

If they didn't know to fear her yet, they soon would.

"ON YOUR FEET, RECRUITS." Tenaebriis roared from behind her helm, and was satisfied as the assembled flinched back in surprise, eyes swiveling about before locking on her, the light striking out around her reflected in their wide gazes and castling their faces in contrast. Those sitting scrambled to their feet, and all watched her warily. Ceasing her march several paces in front of the group, her back to the training dummies, she smoothly unsheathed Redemption and, both hands wrapped firmly around her two-handed hilt, reared back and drove her deep into the ground with all her might. Though the earth was hard-packed, the greatsword sank a bit more than three-quarters of its length into the ground.

Brought to one knee by the force of her lunge, Tenaebriis stood fluidly and pointed sharply at her precious sword, allowing her voice to return to its normal volume with an errant thought.

"Each of you," She barked, the light flaring up and falling with each word. "Will attempt to extract this blade from the earth. If you cannot do it, you will stay here in the yard tonight lifting logs," she gestured to the felled tree trunks used in their siege machines. "Over your shoulders until morning. And, should you fail tomorrow as well, you will stay the next night, and the next, until your body and your will are strong enough. Each of you must remove the sword before any one of you is allowed to rest. Am I understood?"

The incredulity in most of their expressions and the sheer horror in others gave a distinct 'maybe' in answer. The ones that angered her, however, were the defiant few of two of the boys'.

"And should you be wondering why you are to be listening to me, then know this: I am Legionnaire Dawnslayer, paladin of the Crimson Legion and your new commanding officer. Should you entertain the thought of defying me, know that through me you defy High General Brigitte Abbendis, Crusader Lord Vlademar, the Grand Crusader, and the Light itself. I would highly recommend against such traitorous thoughts, my new brothers and sisters; for we must stand against the Scourge, and only united, with no such poison in our midst, can we do so."

With pallid complexions, the recruits nodded. The older woman—she had to be in her late thirties, but no older, surely—snapped a salute, and the others sheepishly mirrored her.

"Yes, Commander!" Her voice was strained in the oddest way, sounding like rocks grating together. Looking closer, Tenaebriis realized the woman's neck was covered in wheals of scar tissue.

By the Light. One of those undead abominations must have nearly torn her throat out.

"You, recruit," Tenaebriis called, gesturing the woman over. "Your name?"

"Marian Silvertouch, Commander." She replied as she approached.

Silvertouch. Marian Silvertouch.

The name echoed in her head, calling back memories long since repressed: a plain golden chain, and from it dangling a sparse silver ring, its only ornamentation the engraved letters LL; a smoky cottage, with a modest smithy and a plethora of delicate shaping tools; a fountain in the square, surrounded by towering adults, that spun and spun as children laughed, running in circles around it; worried voices, speaking in hushed tones just outside the front door; a quiet, dark-haired girl, older, in her teens, worrying her lip as she stared across the fields…

Tenaebriis blinked dazedly, and noted the woman was staring at her, eyes tightening with concern. With a critical eye, she looked her over once more.

Dark hair, with streaks of silver at the temples, swept up into a severe bun, not at all the soft braids of memory…the face was aged, more mature, and held just little hints of the old softness…but those brown eyes were the same…and the high cheekbones…

It couldn't be...and yet..perhaps…Mari?

"You're from Corin's Crossing, aren't you?" The woman startled, her eyes going wide, before she nodded hesitantly.

"How did you know, Commander?" She asked, voice even, posture tense. With some resignation, arms heavy with the aching weight of such nostalgia, Tenaebriis reached up and removed her helm, looking this ghost of her past in the eye.

"It's Tenaebriis, Marian. Your family lived two houses down, across the road from mine. Your father sold Lu—" She choked on the word, but recovered well enough to continue. "…Sold my brother a ring. For you. Do you not remember me? I believe you gave me sweets, once, said I'd be…" Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "That I'd be a lovely little sister."

The initial dawning of recognition played across Marian's features, followed by shock, wonder, and then a deep, reflective sadness. Her lips parted, as if to speak, and she opened and closed her mouth several times. A hand came up to cover her eyes as she breathed in and out in slow, heavy pants.

"Tenaebriis. Tenaebriis." She whispered."You…you…you and…oh, oh, Lucai—"

"Do not say his name." Tenaebriis snapped viciously, and her jaw clicked shut. The hand shielding her eyes fell away, and she noted the unshed tears in them. Lip curling with disgust, she looked away, over Marian's shoulder and up at the battlements.

"Go. Join the others and follow your orders." We will not speak again. I will not.

Visibly gathering herself, Marian gave a stiff nod, saluted, spun, and marched back into the loose crowd of recruits hovering around Redemption.

Raising her voice again, she barked at them to form up a line and get moving, then retreated to stand among the dummies. Tenaebriis watched as the recruits tried—and spectacularly failed—for a moment before she turned a measure of her attention to the list of names she'd been given. The page wasn't overly long, but the black ink scrawls of spidery writing trailed down in two long rows. Sighing quietly, and with another glance up at a ginger-haired man going red-faced as he yanked at Redemption, she began to read.

Nathaniel Arborl, Joshua Clearstill, Dana Coalburn, Felix Corr, Millie Darner, Gerret Fireheart, Susan Highland, Pete Janders, Logan Janders…

Siblings. By the grace of the Light, siblings. Tenaebriis examined the crowd of tiring men and woman again and soon picked out a pair of boys that were indeed staying close to one another, both of them fair-haired and freckled, though their eyes were different. Still, the resemblance was clear, in face and build.

Damnation. Damn you, you monsters, for bring families into this. Damn you to the deepest pits of wrath and hellfire. Clenching her jaw tightly, she made a mental note to speak with Brigitte at a later date to discuss the brothers, and kept reading.

Carolina Khol, Maya Littlefoot, Jeremiah Larkk, Lilynette Marverstead, Will Mistsailor, Henry Ponce, Cailin Rennd, Kaitlin Roadbuilder, Jamie Rosebind, Ros Rowanshot, Fenn Silversmith, Marian Silvertouch, Grant Tapster, Quinten Tavaris, Meredith Younghold…

Tenaebriis paused as she read each name, but none other than Marian's resurrected any memories long since abandoned. Relieved, she began calling out to her recruits, going down the list.

Even by the time she was done, no one had managed to extract Redemption. As the sun sunk low in the sky, she lined them all up and organized them into four groups of six, one of the massive logs to each group. Once all were in place with a log poised on their right shoulders, she ordered them to begin lifting it over their heads, back and forth, and settled in to watch them for any signs of flagging.

Let the first night begin.

121 Days Earlier

After three painful days, and two even more agonizing nights, there was finally a case of success. Gerret Fireheart, a former blacksmith's apprentice, heaved Redemption free shortly after sun-up. Tenaebriis took the proffered blade from his grasp, gripped the young man's wide shoulder—Light, they were bigger than her head—and told him to go back to the barracks and get something to eat, with instructions to return thereafter. He gave her a small smile and a salute, and went off.

That first victory seemed to spur on the remaining battered recruits with the revelation that it was indeed possible to pull the damned sword free. They went at it with new vigor after Tenaebriis did her best to entomb her greatsword at the same depth as before, and by high noon, Redemption had been freed thrice more. Will, Cailin, and Meredith had also succeeded.

The High General stopped by briefly on her way to one of the other abbeys about Tyr's Hand, seeming pleased with the progress. Brigitte was amused, Tenaebriis could tell, by the abuse of the newlings, but she made an excellent show of saying that the Light blessed such dedication and hard work; at the least, it was still a true statement.

And seeing them falling them over themselves to properly address Brig was certainly interesting. Perhaps I'm beating some sense into them after all.

She called a halt to the proceedings so that the recruits could have a brief lunch of lightly cooked greens and fresh bread, though she did not take part herself. She noted Brigitte gave her a displeased look at that as she took her leave, but was glad she said no more on the topic, disapproving or not.

While her men lunched, Tenaebriis drew Redemption from her earthen prison, sat, sword across her lap, on one of the discarded logs, and began a meticulous examination of the blade for any nicks or scratches. Light only knows how many stones she's been scraped on in all this business.

Finding nothing wrong with her sword other than its filthy appearance and slightly dulling tip, she set about cleaning the blade with a soft linen cloth, uncaring that it would only be dirtied again soon. The back-and-forth motions made with each pass of the cloth were monotonous, but mesmerizing, and Tenaebriis lost herself in the simple, pleasant task, her mind blessedly quite.

Of course, it couldn't last.

A noon-stunted shadow moved into place a few inches from the toes of her boots, and Tenaebriis glanced up from her work to see Cailin standing about a foot in front of her, arms crossed over his chest and stance defiant. Inwardly, Tenaebriis sighed. Either the lad has a complaint, or this is about to go very badly.

Cailin had been getting noticeably more agitated over the last few days; whether it was because of the current training regiment, the sparse, near-sleepless nights, or a preexisting issue with authority, the boy had fought her at every turn. He only just followed orders, and pushed her Light-given patience to its breaking point faster than any before him with his blatant disrespect for her and his other superiors. According to his report, he was no lord's son, so Tenaebriis had little idea as to why he acted the way he did.

And the way he was looking down at her now did not bode well: no salute, no proper greeting, just that frustrated glare as he waited for her to address him with barely concealed distaste.

"Recruit Rennd," She acknowledged, keeping the steel from her tone. "What is it?"

"Dawnslayer," Cailin replied. No title. Boy, must you do this? "I would like to know why I am under your command."

"You are under my command because I am your superior, and because the High General ordered it so."

"You misunderstand me. What I want to know is why I am taking orders from you and the High General and not from another."

"And what other would you be so inclined to, recruit?" Tenaebriis demanded, her voice hard. Tread carefully, boy.

"I don't know." He huffed. "Lord Valdemar? Or Sir Oswick?" Though she could understand the newling's possible confusion of rank with Valdemar and Brigitte, she could not see the connection Sir Oswick made. Given, Brigitte had explained the man generally trained large groups of recruits such as these, but simply deviating from that norm could not possibly be—

The man. It was worse than she'd thought. Or better, really, depending. At least the fool isn't entertaining thoughts of betraying the entirety of his betters.

Standing in a fluid motion, Tenaebriis stared evenly into Cailin's challenging eyes, her own cold, blued-steel. He shifted on his feet a bit at her movement, but stood his ground.

"Are you saying, recruit," Tenaebriis spoke coldly. "That you will not take commands from your female superiors?" Cailin's lip curled a bit.

"If they are female," He said curtly. "Then they are not my superiors. I won't bow and scrape to them." A dangerous light flashed in Tenaebriis's eyes.

"Recruit Littlefoot!" She yelled suddenly, snapping the tiny, but quick girl to attention. "Run to the western abbey and fetch the High General. Tell her that there is an issue of insubordination that she need witness dealt with, and tell her I request her presence immediately. Understood?" The deceptively doe-eyed woman nodded, already on her feet. "Then go!"

Ignoring Cailin, Tenaebriis called the other recruits to attention, and hailed down a nearby Scarlet Guardsman. "The rest of you, watch, and know this: as bringers of the Holy Light, we are the hands of righteousness and swift justice; however, we also carry with us the burden of mercy to the deserving…and the ignorant. Let this display be forever a reminder of that duty." She turned to the Guard. "Brother, I would borrow your blade. Would you be so kind?"

"Of course, Legionnaire." The helmeted man replied, saluting, and removed his one-handed sword from the sheath at his hip. He passed it to her, and she, in turn, held it out to Cailin. He eyed it warily.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked, taking the hilt with no small amount of bewilderment. Tenaebriis rolled her shoulders, and proceeded to begin removing her heavy armor, revealing supple, but sturdy scarlet-dyed leathers underneath. As more and more pieces of plate were placed carefully in a pile at her side, she spoke firmly to both the confused boy and her gathered underlings.

"You, Cailin Rennd, are going to fight me. Single combat, a single sword each, no spells, no armor." He began a protest of some sort, but she overrode him. "Should you best me, you are free to take up arms with Sir Oswick, or to simply walk away. Should I best you, however, you will never speak another word against me, the High General, or any other of the women who would be your sisters in the Light—you will follow every order, execute every command, without fail or complaint, and you will show the proper respect to every one of your superiors."

Cailin's eyes slowly widened first with shock, and then narrowed in a challenging, if disbelieving sneer.

"You can't be seri—" He started, but was cut off just then as Maya Littlefoot came jogging up, Brigitte and a host of priests and guardsmen at her heels. The High General strode right up to Tenaebriis, eyes darting from the circle of spectating recruits, to her, to Cailin, to the blade in his hand, to the mound of armor at her feet, and back around again until they finally settled on her face, hard and questioning.

"What is going on here, Legionnaire?" She demanded in a voice that commanded complete attention. "This recruit informed me we have a viper among us. Is this true?" Tenaebriis looked back at her grimly.

"I do not believe so, my lady High General. Insubordination, foolishness, and pigheadedness, indeed, but it remains to be seen if the lad is truly traitor." With that, she extracted the only iron practice sword from the nearby sparse weapons rack, and waved the ring of people back. Her subordinates did so, and the others hesitantly followed suit, though Brigitte remained at her side. Tenaebriis bowed her head to her briefly.

"Allow me to ascertain for myself his loyalties. The boy's issues lie with my the gender of my fellow women and myself. Should I not be able to persuade him from this, then at that time we may seek a more appropriate course, if it pleases you."

"Very well, Legionnaire Dawnslayer." Brigitte sighed, her quick concession somewhat surprising. "As you will." And with that, she retreated, folding her arms behind her back at the waist, watching the two combatants critically. A hush fell over the immediate area.

Finally seeming to realize he had little choice in the matter, Cailin put some distance between them and readied himself in a loose defensive stance. It would seem he is not completely without wit, if he will still be wary of the more experienced.

Tenaebriis paused long enough to remove a soft, worn strip of bold red cloth from her bodice, tying it around her forehead to hold back her long golden tresses. That done, she took a firm hold of her borrowed blade, Redemption left leaning against her previous perch, and advanced towards him.

Her strides were quick and direct, carrying her right up to Cailin, who fell back as she was upon him, so much faster than expected. Tenaebriis swung her blade up in an arc towards his shoulder, and he raised his sword up just enough to block the strike, steel singing as the metal clashed, sliding down to the guard. She was quick to pull back though, already moving again, and spun in a tight circle that had her strike flying at his side. Cailin stumbled back, just dodging, and recovered enough to slash at her back as he momentum carried her away from him; the cut didn't land, but it had been well timed. Tenaebriis's brow furrowed as she dropped into a crouch, avoiding his last swing.

There. An opening: as the boy's arm flung out to his side with the power he'd put into his last, failed sweep, his chest was left exposed. Tenaebriis tilted her blade upwards and sprang up in a slight lung, both hands crowding for room on the short hilt. She and Cailin both froze when the sharp tip of the sword made contact with the underside of his jaw—it bobbed as he swallowed, a thin red pinprick welling up around it with just that extra bit of pressure. Tenaebriis stared up into his wide eyes until he met hers…and then promptly drew her blade back, wheeled around, and gave him a whirling kick to his abdomen that sent him tumbling to the ground several feet away.

And just like that, that soon, their little duel was over. Cailin twitched where he lay, his mouth gaping open as he struggled to take in the air that she'd knocked out of him, his hands scrabbling at his chest. The sword he'd borrowed from the Guardsman lay in the dust, forgotten. Tenaebriis went forwards and picked it up, handing it back to the man without a word. He nodded his thanks.

She noted the gathered people, including the still-gasping Cailin, were watching her, likely awaiting her next move; however, she merely stared down at the winded recruit, face passive. It seemed he picked up on the cue, because slowly, watching her as she was him, he wobbled onto his feet and proceeded to kneel in front of Tenaebriis. Fisting his hand over his heart, he spoke carefully.

"I, Cailin Rennd, pledge my fealty to the lady Tenaebriis Dawnslayer of the Crimson Legion, and through her to High General Abbendis and all those above me, my life to the Scarlet Crusade and its holy mission, and my soul to the Holy Light."

"You are faithful, Cailin Rennd?" Tenaebriis asked him, placing a hand on his brow.

"I am faithful." He replied, pausing, then continuing demurely. "Stubborn, but faithful. Tenaebriis held back a snort and simply said a short blessing. When she was done, he stood, saluted to her, then to Brigitte. Both accepted the gesture with a nod, and Tenaebriis waved her recruits off, dismissing them for the day, Brigitte ordering her scrambled entourage back to the abbey. Once they were alone, Brigitte gave her a hard look.

"My order was to train the recruits, Tenaebriis, not to weed out the faithful. I gave that job to Bishop Street." Tenaebriis bowed her head.

"I apologize if I have acted outrageously, my lady. Know however, that as Rennd was put under my command—by you—that his refusal to follow my lead or yours based on the fact that we are women became my responsibility to reprimand. His impudence was, and likely may yet be, a danger to us all, and I would not let such traitorous frivolities be the downfall of my command." Seeing Brigitte's continued severity, Tenaebriis took on a more urgent tone, her voice dropping to an intent whisper. "You know we need to revive our ranks, Brigitte. I am aware we must surround ourselves with the faithful, not merely the zealous, but I am also aware that we cannot destroy the Crusade in our own righteousness. You've said as much yourself, and to Street no less. See as I see, sister: Rennd is a useful man, and should he prove faithful, he will be another invaluable member of our sacred order, as can our other recruits. Can you not trust in my faith?"

Brigitte seemed to be considering her words. She got a faraway look in her eyes as her expression warred between a grimace and scowl until seeming to give up and settle in a blank look. She fixed her eyes on a point over her companion's shoulder, and nodded slowly.

"You know I trust you, Tenaebriis. You, and the Light. I will pray for our success…do not, under any circumstance, give me cause to ask for our salvation as well."

"Yes, High General." Tenaebriis murmured, fisting her hand over her heart and bowing deeply. She stayed in that pose until Brigitte's footsteps faded in her ears. When she was gone, she straightened up, cast a thougtful eye at the retreating backs of her recruits, and moved to take up Redemption.

I will pray as well, sister. She thought as strapped on her blade and gathered her armor. For the day when you, I, and all like us may leave behind this wretched world knowing it has been cleansed. I will pray for a good death. I will pray it is soon. Light save us all.

Dear Lucaius,

I dreamt of the oddest thing this night, Brother. It was not on par with my usual dreams, filled with death and shadow and blood, and the whispers of the Light. Tonight, I dreamed of simpler things. It fills my chest with an aching wistfulness I must crush before it can consume me.

In my dream, I was back at Corin's Crossing, in our old house. I was in our bedroom, putting on my favorite blue dress. Mother came upstairs and began to brush out my hair, and tied ribbons in my pigtails when she was finished. It was strange, because even thought my body was as it is now, she still talked to me and treated me as she did at the time of the dream. I can't even remember how old I was then. Six? Seven?

It matters little.

She took my hand and we went downstairs and mama went to the kitchen to make breakfast and sent me out to play. I went running out the door, and found you outside. You were talking to Marian, laughing, blushing. I marched up and demanded your attention. You laughed, and picked me up, and put me on your shoulders, even though I was in a dress. Marian looked up at me and smiled and left, just disappeared, like she was never there; and then you took off running in circles, yelling that I had to flap my arms like a bird if I wanted to fly. So I did. I flapped them up and down and up and down and you said not to fly so far that I ever forgot you and our home.

And you know what I said? I said, "I'll never leave you, Brother. I won't fly away without you." And you just laughed again.

I'm so sorry, Brother. I'm so, so sorry. They left you. I left you. Flew far away and left you to die.

I shall never fly again. I swear it. Not until my mission is done. And when it is, it shall be into the sun I fly: I'll fly towards it until I burn up and fall back to earth as ashes to join you.

Brigitte, Marian, Cailin, everyone…I pray they burn up too, Brother. I pray we all burn, everything, and everyone, so that the world is purged clean.

From our ashes, the new will rise: and may they never know this damnation. Won't the fires be glorious from where you are, Brother? I think they shall give you much joy.

Take care, Brother.

As you may be able to tell, I'm still nailing down how I think the Crusade would work. Brigitte's in-game journal and the wiki are nice, but if anyone's got some suggestions on the inner workings of any sort of militant program, drop me a line. Thanks, and thank you for reading! Reviews are love. XD

Watashi