text: [Themes: fantasy, fantasy, action]
  
  You flee, far from the war camp. The sun, originally high in the sky, slowly creeps towards the horizon. But still, you flee, putting as much distance between yourselves and the horde as you can. It may be in disarray, it may be chaotic, but it's still thousands upon thousands of warriors. For all you know, another leader could rise, bonding them together in their betrayal, uniting them for a sole purpose: to find and kill Joren. In your temporary position next to Joren, you hope that's not the case. It's still a very real possibility though.
  
  How is it that the man you chased several nations to kill became an ally, aligning his goal with your own? Yes, Joren is the reason for traveling this far, but the Lady's will directed you towards the Great Warlord instead. Confused at the outcome, questioning her decision to even task you with the assassination, you suppress the thoughts, meaning to focus on escape. You'll have plenty of time to answer those questions later.
  
  Cool evening air washes against your face. The three of you, running on foot, finally rest, finding a large grouping of stones as cover. Each of you drop, planting your backs against a stone for support. The rock itself is cold, a result of being exposed to the air, while not receiving direct sunlight.
  
  "Just couldn't get enough of me, huh?" Joren breaks the silence, hazel eyes meeting yours. His brown curls have grown considerably longer than they were at the island.
  
  "Something like that," you answer.
  
  "We're still even, though. I could have escaped there by myself. Didn't need you and 'Scowly' over here to rescue me. If anything, I saved you with that smokescreen."
  
  "Who are you calling 'Scowly,' Mop Head," Paxson answers. "I don't care about your past. You ended the Great Warlord's life, which puts you as a friend in my book."
  
  You sigh, exhausted. You find yourself here, so might as well make the most of it. "Why? Why did you do it?"
  
  "Do what?" Joren answers. Seeing your frown, he continues. "Ok, ok. Speaking plainly then. The one they worship is real. The woman flocked by crows, vengeful spirit. All that. She's real. I've seen her."
  
  "No way," you reply, directed towards the fact that Joren's spoken with the Lady. As far as you know, you're the only one she appears to. Morgan didn't even claim direct communication with her.
  
  "It's true. She came to me on the island. How much do you know of Killian? He was a false prophet, leading the order astray. He's actually part of the Dreamwalkers. The leader of the Lady's order was grooming up members to be taken by the Dreamwalkers for experimentation."
  
  "But...but you're a high priest for the Warlord, the direct enemy of the Lady," you respond.
  
  "I was a high priest for the Great Warlord. All those things I said on the stage are true. The Warlord was a tyrant. He's just as those who put us in shackles, worse even as he feigns freedom for his followers. They're bound, and they don't even know it. Their chains follow them no matter how far they travel."
  
  Seeing your skepticism, he continues.
  
  "I serve the divine, in all forms he takes. Once I thought that was the Warlord. Even after the island, I thought that. My journey told me otherwise. The Lady told me otherwise. Though I was once aligned to the western tribes, my only duty is to the divine. You are her herald. She told me as such. The herald must have a priest in accompaniment. One to fulfill her will, and the other to cultivate it. You know it must be this way. You and I are bonded, destined, to do the Lady's work. Together. "
  
  "I find that hard to believe."
  
  The voice comes not from you, not even from Paxson, but from your left. Morgan stands between two sizable boulders, arm resting nonchalantly on them. Two emerald eyes framed by hair of unnaturally black hair.
  
  "Liliana?" Paxson utters, wide-eyed.
  
  "Morgan," she answers, stepping forward. Something flashes in her eyes. Recognition? Whatever it is, it appears for only a moment, now suppressed. Morgan dons her blank, expressionless face, the one that accompanied many lessons on the island.
  
  "Ah, Morgan," Joren begins. "Fitting you should be here as well. We'll need your--"
  
  Subtle movement on the rock above where Joren leans against. Neither Paxson, Joren, and apparently, Morgan notice. Something's wrong. Then, realization hits you, like a strong wind current running into full mast sails. "Morgan" is an illusion, a projection. She stands where the sunlight barely hits the rock formation. No shadow. Her body isn't casting a shadow. The subtle movement occurs again. You're too late to stop it.
  
  The real Morgan drops from above, blade ready, flashing, a silvery streak as she flies down. All eyes are focused on the woman in front of them, on "Morgan." Her boots land directly on Joren's shoulders, one on each, the sudden blow dazing him. Morgan's free hand grabs a handful of curly hair, pulling Joren's head up to expose his neck. She eyes him for a split-second, savoring the moment, ready to enact the Lady's vengeance. Hazel eyes meet a pair of emeralds.
  
  > Watch
  You do not intervene. How could you deny Morgan her revenge? You've spent many months chasing the man before you. A man lies dead, several in the following wake. A temple, a holy place, peaceful, lies burned and destroyed. All at this man's hands. All at Joren's hands. No, he may have ended the Great Warlord's life, but that does not pardon him for past crimes. You've followed the Lady's will this far, you'll continue to follow it without Joren.
  
  Morgan's blade sinks into Joren's throat.
  
  Joren's, now lifeless body, slinks to the side, Morgan standing over it.
  
  "How could you?" she speaks. "How could you ally yourself with this murderer?"
  
  "He's no ally of mine," you start. Paxson cuts you off.
  
  "This man killed the Warlord. He ended a war before it could expand beyond border skirmishes. Is that really you, Lil?"
  
  Her eyes narrow. "Morgan. Liliana is no more." Directing towards you, she adds, "We've traveled far, through Tristrand's waters, across the Helswith Desert, into the western plains. Yet I find you in the very company of the man we hunt. Why?"
  
  You momentarily glance at Paxson, whose face has darkened. He's quieted down for now, working through the sudden appearance of "Liliana." You reply.
  
  "He claims to have spoken to the Lady. And that it was at her direction that Killian was killed."
  
  "Bullshit," Morgan answers. "I heard his story, the same as you. Joren no more served the Lady than I serve Uralan. It's clear that your judgement is clouded. I'll not have your confusion get in the way of the rebuilding of the order. You are hereby dismissed. Should you seek us out, I'll have no choice but to..." She trails off at the end, but a slight gesture towards Joren's body solidifies the threat. "I thought it would be the both of us rebuilding after vengeance was fulfilled. Seems it will just be me."
  
  Morgan turns, stepping over Joren's body, and strides towards the break in the stones, traveling alone. As she reaches the edge, the place where the natural trail veers from sight, she stops and speaks over her shoulder.
  
  "Well, are you coming?"
  
  Thankful she's come to her senses, you start to rise from your seat against one of the stones.
  
  "No, not you," she speaks. Paxson, still in a trance-like state, stands and rushes to join Morgan, as if taking too much time would cause her to leave without him.
  
  "You have to understand, Nameless. I--"
  
  You cut him off by raising a hand, palm stretched out facing him. "No need. Go to her. I'll see to it that no collectors search for you, not that they'd have much luck in finding you with her. It's about time the lost son of Arroden returns home."
  
  Paxson suddenly stops, turning back to meet you one final time. His arm stretches out. Yours meets it, clasping palm against inner forearm. No additional words are shared. None are necessary. The man with a past deeply aligned to your own takes your position next to Morgan. It's not how you expected things to end.
  
  Somehow, though, your lives have come full circle. Symmetry. Your part played in the story, a feeling of completion washes over you. You would have some questions for the Lady upon her next appearance. This chapter's over, but another is beginning. It's time to head home.
  
  The End