Darius and I argued for an hour over how we were going to return to Crow's End. I described how Sethan had taken me through the Realm, though I omitted the spiritual agony it had inflicted upon my very soul. Unfortunately, Darius knew of the method I was referring to, and it only darkened his already black mood. 

As the Sin explained it, what Sethan had done was akin to slamming my arm into a car door and using it to drag me down the street. It got me to my destination with no guarantee of my arrival in one piece. He was averse to doing the same—until I pointed out that we were in the middle of the Cascade Mountains with no readily available way back to civilization. It could take days to walk out. 

Days without food. Without water. Without safety. Sethan may be dead, but Balthier still lurked. Neither of us would survive long outside the manor.

So, grim-faced and not shy about voicing his opposition, Darius scooped me into his arms and plunged us both into the sweltering heat of the Realm. The pressure mounted with alarming quickness as the black flames stole my breath and I choked on the embers. It began to push us from the Realm, but Darius held steady against the Realm's insistence.

The pain set in with burning familiarity.

To his credit, Darius stopped three times to allow both of us a breather, the first stop in a barren field, the second in a sleepy town blanketed in white, and the final stop on a slender spit of land in the midst of a churning ocean. We paused with enough frequency for me to retain consciousness—but the trip was arduous.

I almost wept when he moved a final time, and we stepped into the water-logged land of the manor's moors.

"King's breath," Darius groaned as he eased my feet to the road and kept a grip on my arm. He bent at the waist to catch his breath and braced a hand upon a knee. "You're heavier than you look."

"Oh, that's rich." I slapped his arm and wondered if sitting in the middle of the path for a nap was a viable option. "That's hilarious coming from you."

Darius sighed, then—as if reading my mind—prodded me in the side so I would squirm. "Don't sit. We're almost there—." He suddenly straightened, stiffening. The Sin's attention followed the road to the lane ahead. "There's something wrong."

"Wrong?"

Darius disappeared without explanation. Gawking, I stared at the spot he'd vanished from. What did he mean by wrong?!

I kept walking along the road to the lane—which was when I heard Amoroth's raised voice and Darius's answering snarl. "Cuxiel!"

Standing at the ward with the manor's name silhouetted above them, the two Sins were watching the scene before them unfold. Peroth was positioned among the graves with a disheveled Anzel at his side.

Beyond them, wearing his typical suit and sneer, was the Sin of Envy. Visible only when the mist shifted, Danyel was a nonthreatening sentinel in designer garb too far out to do anyone any good.

Balthier and Sloth were inside the ward.

Words failed me as I came to a stop next to Darius, feeling the static of the ward wend through the air. No—not just one ward. Two wards, similar in composition but with subtle, inherent differences in their design, pressed upon one another in dazzling lightning displays.

Two wards. Balthier had set a second one inside Peroth's.

The night was dark but for those bursts of lightning highlighting the dreaded scene before us.

Amoroth had open blisters on her quavering hands from striking the ward. Her hair was a coiled mess, unbrushed as if she'd been woken from a dead sleep. I wondered how she'd escaped the creation of the second barrier before it'd been erected.

"There must be something we can do," she pleaded with Darius as she wrung her hands without regard to the spreading burns. "Envy rose his ward in seconds. It's not strong. There has to be weaknesses." 

Darius jerked his chin to the left, then the right. "He constructed it inside Cuxiel's. His may not be as strong, but it's inside Sloth's—and we know his can't be breached."

The Sin of Lust let out a wordless moan of protest.

I held my own hand up, and shied from the bite of the ward's vicious lashing. The burns it left were like those given by dry ice. I didn't think I could walk through it like I had in the past.

Inside the ward, where Peroth and Balthier were trading curt barbs, Anzel turned to glance in our direction.

Through the fog and veins of lightning, our eyes met.

Looking again at Envy, the Vytian bore teeth and spat, "A fate cruel enough to repay your deceit and destruction doesn't exist. I will settle for your death."

The long blade in his hand moved as he shot forward with liquid grace. Sloth went to stop him or to propel him forward, I didn't know. Their motions were so swift my tired eyes had difficulty tracking the action. Balthier dodged Anzel's attack with a smirk firm upon his smug face—but the extremity of his sword caught the side of Envy's shoulder. Blood was splayed into the air in a fine, crimson mist.

Balthier's smirk dissolved in a furious grimace as he clutched the wound. Small as the injury was, Anzel's blade must have laced devastating magic into its attack to elicit such a reaction from Envy. The Sin retreated, snarling "Danyel!" as he did so.

The Sin of Greed hesitated. Those of us beyond the ward saw it—and so did Balthier. I knew whatever the outcome was today, that hesitation had bought Danyel a ticket to his own death.

He lumbered forward with slow, unpracticed steps. Anzel turned to face him, Danyel's ruin written plainly in the savage set of his expression—when Balthier lunged. Anzel went to meet the Sin and so did Sloth, but Envy wasn't aiming for the Vytian. His fist wrapped about the middle of the sword.

The shriek of metal shattering echoed throughout the marsh.

Balthier laughed, though blood ran from a fresh laceration across his palm. Anzel stumbled and stared as they broke apart, shocked by the useless stub of a blade left in his grip.

Sloth moved. His hands came together, then pulled apart, the motion exciting a ripple of energy within the ward's confines. The taste of that energy was reminiscent of spring, and images of early fall—when the weather is yet warm and the trees begin to shift—danced in my head.

Light spilled from a tear opened by Peroth's simple gesture. Awed, I watched as the tear swelled to something almost man-sized. The tear curled and billowed as if caught in a breeze, but through it I caught sight of golden trees, summer skies, and a well-trod path.

"Make use of this gift, Vytian. It's for your foolish bravery." Peroth warned as the light from the tear played across his stoic front. "W'arg!"

The Druid rocketed from the nearest tree, more shadow than bird, and when he collided with the confused princeling, he'd adopted the aspect of a strange, avian humanoid with feathers crowning his head and four limbs.

Both creatures disappeared into the light before Anzel could protest, and with a flick of his wrist, Peroth sealed the tear. The moors were once more plunged into the drabness of night.

"A pity," Balthier pouted as he kicked aside the shards of Anzel's sword. The shards were disintegrating as if made of dust. "I was looking forward to playing with him more."

Peroth didn't partake in Envy snide monologue. His keen, staid eyes flicked toward Danyel and their golden color was tarnished with black. "You die first, rat."

Sloth dashed for the young Sin with blinding speed. Danyel screamed and cowered—but before he could have his head torn off by Peroth, Envy slammed into Sloth and they careened away.

"Useless!" Balthier snarled as he struck Sloth in the face. "Do something or you die!" 

Tehgrair burst from Peroth's shoulders with a ghastly scream, its emaciated arms spinning in grotesque ways as its claws lashed out toward Balthier's face. Envy dodged and Peroth went for his throat, hand curving upward with nails sharpened to deadly points.

Danyel blocked the blow—squealing when Tehgrair's claws sliced his face.

The energy they summoned was a heady riptide devouring every semblance of heat left in the manor's grounds. Ice snapped underfoot as it overcame the shallow puddles accumulating in the moor's dips and grooves. The mist froze and fell in an icy rain.

"What do we do?" I asked Darius and Amoroth, desperate for some recourse that wouldn't leave us standing at the sidelines doing nothing.

Both Sins stared straight ahead and didn't reply. 

What could we do? The ward was sealed against intrusion. No matter how many times I riffled through my meager, scattered thoughts, I couldn't discover a construct or a spell or a loophole I could utilize to bring us to Peroth's aid. I'd always prided myself on my knowledge, but in that moment I felt stupid and weak, an ignoramus clinging to what few dregs of information she knew when none of it was what she needed.

Sloth and Envy continued to struggle. Their fight wasn't graceful. There were no artful pirouettes or flashy techniques. They fought like animals, snarling and snapping, meeting blow with blow as their features devolved and their power flowed forth from the depths of the Realm.

Bones broke and skin tore. On they battled, healing what they could before the next assault. Peroth was an agile warrior and Tehgrair's shade was an absolute fright—but Balthier was a tidal wave consuming all in his passage, and Danyel was a constant whip across Sloth's back. Useless on his own, Danyel played his part when combined with the sheer devastation Balthier wielded.

Darius's hand curled about my own. His fingers were warm with the fire waiting in his veins. I looked to him, and found the Sin's full attention centered upon me. His eyes were colorless and distant, reflecting the bleakness of the land around us.

"I want you to run," he whispered. "I want you to get away from here."

"What?"

The hand fastened upon mine tensed. "I want you to run."

There was resignation in his gaze and in the hard line of his shoulders. There were tears on Amoroth's pale face.

"No," I breathed, refusing to acknowledge the true meaning of Darius's words. "No!"

"Sara—!"

Stones broke. Peroth slumped against a split tomb, one arm limp and useless at his side, the other twisted behind his back by a bruised Danyel. Sloth's every breath was plagued by a pained whine, and Tehgrair had disappeared, leaving nothing but a series of shallow claw marks on Peroth's chest.

Blood flowed from beneath Sloth's hairline to cover his visage in a gruesome war paint. He glowered at the Sin of Envy as Balthier stood above him with a victorious smile on his bruised face. His eyes glowed with poison menace.

"Cuxiel!" Amoroth yelled, pounding on the ward. "Cuxiel—!"

Balthier had one foot on the grave Peroth had fallen upon and leaned over the Sin. One hand cupped his throat, and those bloody talons of his delved into Peroth's straining flesh.

"For those who died to your indolence," Balthier insisted. "And to your sloth."

Peroth inhaled, chest rising.

Darius gripped both Amoroth and me by an arm and began to pull us away.

The weathered statue of an angel above the tomb looked down upon the unfolding tragedy without pity. Without sadness. Without remorse.

Balthier's fingers came together, forming a fist.

Crows took flight from the trees, screaming.

And, in that moment, the world became a bit smaller.