Music is Moon by Sleeping At Last. It's somewhere down there, so play it when you reach that point! (Seriously, do.) And for those of you looking for indie music, try everything this band has. All their songs are godsends, I swear.

******

"Well, that was eventful."

Sir Isaac's crusty tone breaks the silence. My eyes flick towards him; he's still sprawled lazily upon the chair, his frail figure almost being swallowed by the embroidered cushions. Why? Why does Miraterciel keep screaming when I'm in close proximity to him?

No. I know why. But I can't bear to think of it. Not now—not when so many things are happening at the same time.

"Was the whole 'the world is doomed' ramblings a facade?" murmurs Gilbert. "Or is it something to be taken seriously?"

"At any rate, we now have access to the Cave of Three Souls." Everest nods at me and my fellow Champion. "There's something going on inside there."

"How would you know that?" Gilbert folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the great mahogany table in the centre of the room. "For all we know, the Lorelays are merely diverting our attention in order to hide the real source of the infection."

"It's a possibility that cannot be ruled out, of course," Everest replies, "but like Sir Kendrick mentioned earlier, we need to investigate all leads. Besides, I don't think the Lorelays have any ill intents towards us."

"You can't tell anything when it comes to them." Gilbert's gaze briefly flutters towards me; I look away. I know he's remembering the ritual this morning—the way Grand Seer Fabienne and Maya had practically tricked me into doing it. I want to tell him to calm down, that nothing has happened to me yet. But even if Abner agreed to the ritual, I don't know if my necromancy is for the best or worst.

Everest shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "Just a hunch. I've dealt with plenty of their kind before."

"Enough to tell if they don't harbour any ill intentions?"

"I think so, yes."

Everest speaks with a quiet confidence that immediately silences Gilbert. Definitely not an easy feat to accomplish. I wonder if it's because of his past—the fact that he was a bandit. From what little I know, they'd have dealings with the underground market, where the dealers are cutthroat and the customers even more so. I guess that he'd have to develop some form of intuition to keep his guts intact when dealing with these people.

Sir Kendrick clears his throat, successfully recapturing our attentions. "So, we'll just continue investigating the area. Falkner, Rutherland, naturally both of you have been reassigned to the Cave of Three Souls."

"Hold on, sir, I'm still supposed to read through...all this?" Everest waves a helpless arm at the books lining the walls.

"Yes, you are." Everest deflates, head bowed in defeat. The image is rather hilarious. "And Sir Isaac, I know that you can't contribute much, but do try to talk to the servants around here. They may know something."

A thought pops into my head. "Sir, you mentioned that you dropped by Battein before, when you were en route to Hallicus?"

He gives me a perfect fish-eye. "Whoever told you that?"

"Sir, you mentioned it just yesterday." I turn towards Sir Kendrick. "Sir, you highlighted it."

The Bane scrunches his brows together. "Odd. I don't remember anything of the sort."

Gilbert, Everest and I stare at the both of them in disbelief.

"Sir, you clearly mentioned that you wanted to ask Sir Isaac of further details," Everest says slowly, as though in fear that the Bane might suddenly lash out with Bloodslayer and off his head.

"I did not!" Sir Kendrick protests, indignant. "Clearly you all have remembered wrong."

"With all due respect, sir," I say, fighting to keep my tone low and even, "I am the Champion of War and Strategy—and I do not forget easily. Nor do I have phantoms conjured by my mind."

The glare he shoots me is so intense that I fear he might truly off my head with Bloodslayer.

"It doesn't matter," he huffs. Not a continued argument, nor a surrender. Just stalling. "We have more pressing matters at hand. Will all of you follow my instructions or not?"

Sir Isaac bobs his head. "Aye. Will do."

Sir Kendrick waits patiently for the rest of us.

We eventually bow our heads in submission. "Aye. Will do," we echo each other.

The Bane draws himself up, putting his monstrous height to good effect. "I myself will ask around the village," he declares. "You all have your tasks?" We nod our heads in return. "Excellent. Report back five—no, three days. Time is of the utmost essence."

"Understood, sir," we chant at the same time.

"All right. You're all free for the rest of the day. I imagine that it was a taxing time for everyone."

You have no idea. Even now, I'm fighting to keep my thoughts under control. Even now, I'm fighting not to break down from Abner's absence. The fact that Sir Isaac and Sir Kendrick have so conveniently forgotten about the former's previous to Battein doesn't help.

"Men, dismissed," Sir Kendrick announces.

I find that I'm the first to escape the Raven Room, with the vague sensation that Sir Isaac is staring after me.

******

https://youtu.be/NALeI_SVNgE

In spite of my exhaustion, I find myself tossing and turning beneath my blankets in the middle of the night. Perhaps it's the overwhelming sensation of shadows feeding images into my mind. Perhaps it's the aftereffects of having taken in too much excitement for one day. Perhaps it's all that combined, plus something else.

A cathedral bell chimes once, its echoes soft and careful, as though the abbot who is on duty at this hour is determined to not disturb sleepers. One at night—or early morning. I'd retired to bed early, around nine o'clock, soon after dinner was served and finished. And I've been lying here since then, eyelids unclosing, mind abuzz with high-strung energy.

I heave a sigh, throwing the blankets off. Winter air instantly ices me over. The central heating system is kept to a bare minimum at this time, and is certainly not about to accommodate any night owls.

Shivering, I reach for a heavy overcoat I'd flung onto a chair earlier. I slip into it, before putting my boots on—making sure that Miraterciel is inside as I do so—and grabbing a cloak.

I exit my room, using my shadows to probe the way for me. The few lit braziers in the hallways are blinding, in contrast to the darkness. I have no idea where I'm heading for, only that I have this urge to walk—and keep walking. Take my mind away from the events today; allow my mind to truly sink into exhaustion.

I'm barely aware that I'm heading out of the Lorelay manor. It doesn't matter. I'm a Champion of War; any unscrupulous fellows who'd think to rob a lonely stranger here would meet their doomsday. I just keep walking, going wherever the road leads me. Silence wraps me like a cocoon—the silence of dreaming children and sleeping workmen.

Eventually, I arrive at the town centre.

I stare up at the cathedral looming before me. The entirety of its structure is defined even more clearly at night, as though it were meant to be admired while bathed in shadows. I shake my head and walk towards the back, towards the clusters.

It's so small and insignificant compared to the one back in Castle Larstand. A single, low archway serves as its entrance, and instead of glass stained windows with the Pietists painted among them, the clusters here have tiny, crude-looking statuettes arranged in a neat circle.

I walk past the Pietists, bowing my head and moving my lips in prayer, breath frosting into clouds. Strange, that the clusters in Battein should be so...lacklustre. Especially considering that the clusters have been in existence since Ancient Cambirian times.

Pst. Dreylus; Pst. Galen; Pst. Maia. I pass by the Pietists on the Peruscian side, the one that my patron leads. The ones who supposedly represent 'order' in the Pietists' circle. The opposite side, the Aerinus, led by Pst. Ailith, Pst. Bronicus's rival and lover. The ones who belong to 'chaos'.

Order and chaos. According to theory, the Champions' abilities should follow this mould. But now, thinking of how Gilbert so effortlessly hones his chaos against enemies, I wonder if everything is as clear cut as it seems. I am the Champion of War and Strategy, the one who's supposed to be in control of all situations, who's supposed to remain clear-headed and calculating at all times. Yet as of now, I can feel my mind descending into chaos itself.

I take in a deep breath. I must visit the Cave of Three Souls, delve into my predecessors' memories. If only to regain some semblance of control over my thoughts.

Pst. Kiaran; Pst. Kamira; Pst. Amiticus. I slow myself when I approach the heads of the Circle. Soon, the broad, harsh features of Pst. Bronicus come into view. By his side, a roaring lion.

I drop to my knees before his altar, digging my pockets for an offering. To my dismay, I find nothing. I draw Miraterciel out and unsheathe it, allowing the tip of its blade to pierce my left forefinger. I hold my hand over the altar bowl; blood drips into it. To the Seven Hells with how precious my blood is.

I sit there for a while, soaking in the atmosphere. Tranquillity and uneasiness mingle with each other here; the Pietists' unmoving expressions are either serene or judgmental. Yet this paradox forms the essence of this place—the essence of the world, to a certain extent. I close my eyes, inhaling, exhaling.

I myself am a paradox.

I am a Champion of Pst. Bronicus, yet I am a woman. I have fire that brings life, yet I am a master of shadows. I love sword-fighting, yet the idea of war terrifies me.

How is it possible for so many contradictions to exist in one being?

"Please, guide my way," I pray to my patron. "Please. I'm lost."

My words drown in the silence. Just this morning, Abner would have been the one to comfort me, guide me. Now, there's nothing but myself, and a pathetic rendering of Pst. Bronicus.

Someone approaches in the distance. I pull myself onto my feet, but I don't move from my spot.

"Can't sleep?"

"Same goes for you, I assume," I answer Gilbert, back facing him.

His footfalls grow closer. "Strange place you've chosen to wander in the middle of the night," he remarks, moving to stand before the altar of his own patron. Unlike me, he manages to dig out a few coins to drop into Pst. Ailith's bowl.

"Same goes for you," I repeat. I sneak a glance at Gilbert. He's dressed insensibly, with nothing but a thin cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Then again, maybe he's practically immune to the cold. His hair is mussed up by the wind; his usually bright eyes are dark and serious, the jovial light to them gone.

"You're awfully chatty," he says with a strained smile, "using the same answer twice."

"Why so gloomy? I ask bluntly. I half-turn my body to get a better look at him.

He finally casts his attention upon me. "Really? Me, gloomy? What gave you that impression?"

"You should know that I'm not very good at playing coy, Falkner," I say, tone dry. "You've been acting like this since we've arrived here. I'll rephrase my question: What's going on?"

He doesn't reply, suddenly deciding that a disproportionate rendering of his patron is more interesting than me. I loosen a tired sigh. "If you're not going to—"

"I'm a failure."

The words drop from his mouth like flaming arrows. The playful insults I was ready to spew out fold upon themselves. I stay silent for a few minutes, struggling to cobble a proper response. In the end, I settle for a hesitant "Why?"

He deigns to turn his head towards me. "All this while, I've been doing nothing. I mean, it's always Sir Kendrick or you or someone else who's carrying the workload—I'm just there to help."

"Gilbert," I say softly, "what precisely makes you think that?"

He shakes his head. "It's hard to say. Small incidents, really. Little things that one hardly notices. But accumulatively, I just keep thinking about it, and well—how I'm not much of a help."

"How could you undermine yourself like that, when you are the Champion of Pst. Ailith?"

"Don't you get it?" He abruptly locks eyes with me, and I'm startled by the intensity blazing in them. "It's exactly because I'm the Champion of Pst. Ailith that I feel so useless! It's like I should do something more, yet I don't. I can't!"

Silence fills the gap between us once more. I think of the time when he had first returned to Castle Larstand, of the jovial, good-natured individual with a quick and ready smile. Was that individual truly a facade he's built up this whole time? Like how he's always pushed himself to smile even though he was in so much pain, hiding his abilities from the world?

It's not an implausible idea. It would also explain the unusual cold—his powers fall out of control with negative emotions, he'd once told me.

"I'm sorry. I know that there's so much going on for you right now, and this isn't a suitable timing for any of this...drama." Gilbert's tense shoulders go slack, his head dipping to hide whatever expression on his face behind the unruly dark locks.

"There's never a suitable timing for drama, if we're being honest," I say, faux-cheerfully. "Just keep talking. You'll feel better." I do a double take at my own sentence; I never thought that I'd see the day where I'd be the one offering emotional advice to Gilbert, of all people.

"I suppose you're right." He lifts his face, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Where do I start though? I've always managed to hide it up till now. But on that night when the...infected attacked us, you were the one practically handling everything.

"I had encountered those creatures before. I should have been the one to deal with them. Yet you—I left you alone to fight them. And in return, I don't know what happened, but you – lost yourself for a moment back there."

"You acted upon Sir Kendrick's orders," I remind him.

"Still." He diverts his gaze back towards Pst. Ailith. "Then during our first night in Battein, Grand Seer Fabienne had obviously tried to push your necromancy with that cup of tea—I saw it. And later, when we first met Maya, I could only watch as you seemed to have all the weight of the world poured onto your shoulders. That is, until the Grand Seer called me out, of course."

He takes in a deep breath; I patiently wait for him to continue. "This morning, I was helpless once again when you were forced to partake in that ritual. The afternoon, I wasn't there with you in the Cave of Three Souls—that place took something out of you. I sensed it while we were meeting with Grand Seer Fabienne."

I ignore the jab of pain into my heart; he doesn't know that Abner had been taken away from me.

"Even now, you are the one supporting me, when you already have enough problems as it is." A mirthless laughter rings out from Gilbert's mouth. "But these aren't all the cases, evidently. There were so many times while I was travelling around Perinus, when I felt second-rate or incompetent in spite of my abilities."

A small wind finds its way into the clusters. It dances between us, somehow dispelling the unseen gap there. "I want to help—I know that I have to take command of Perinus's army someday, but at this rate... I don't know. I don't feel that I'm good enough for it." Gilbert pauses for a while; his eyes shine silver. He fights tears in his voice when he resumes: "And then you – you are bearing the fate of all of us. I'm supposed to be your equal, your rival—your...friend. Yet I can't do anything. I can only watch as you go up against the world alone."

For once, he seems so small, so alone, so broken. He was never like this even back in Hangman's Tower, when he'd revealed that he was the child used as a substitute for my funeral. I don't have words for this situation. It's true—I am the one whom Diomedes wanted. I am the one with both shadows and fire running in my veins. However, I can't imagine having to do anything without Gilbert by my side—he's always been the pillar of support. The one who I've always drawn strength from, asides from Abner.

Words can't comfort him, but maybe actions can.

Ignoring the awkwardness that had sprouted between us after the time in the alleyway, I screw up my courage, step towards Gilbert, and wrap my arms around him.

He muffles a cry of surprise against my shoulder. Soon, I feel hot, wet tears soaking into my cloak and overcoat. His entire body is trembling with sobs. I draw him tighter into the embrace.

"Don't belittle yourself," I say. "You're Gilbert. Remember what you said to me? Don't ever change. Be who you are; don't give in to the demands of the world. Don't ever feel like you're less or more based on the performances of other people. You're you—no one could ever compete with that."

"What if the me right now isn't enough?" he whispers.

"It isn't enough only because you think so. You could be anyone—a butcher, a milkmaid, a candlestick maker. Anyone, and it's okay. You form a part of this world. And I..."

I pull him away, taking him by the shoulders and making sure that he's looking at me. "I can't imagine a world without you," I tell him. No sarcasm, no insults. Just the bare-faced truth.

A truth that has my heart thundering in protest.

Tears silently streak down his cheeks. "I'm sorry to trouble you with this, Constantine," he says, voice soft yet harsh. "I – I don't—"

"Do not say that you're incompetent," I interrupt him. "Besides"—my lips curve into a smile—"I'm rather envious myself, that you have far better control over your abilities than I do."

He squeezes the last of his tears out, managing a weak smile in return. "You? Envious? That's new."

"It's true," I say, tone low. I fight to keep the bitterness out of my tone—not let him see that even now, the thought of Gilbert being able to best me in a one-on-one duel makes me tremble with irritation. "You're always one step ahead of me. No matter what I do, when I think that I can finally keep up, you suddenly learn something new and speed away into the distance."

He remains silent for a while, allowing some of my pent-up frustration disperse into the stars. "Erilda once told me that I would come first, so you would build upon the steps I had taken."

I stare at him with surprise; he smiles. "You were meant to come after me, in order to be better—to learn from me. You are the pivot point of the world, Constantine. My role is to help you make the right choices and become stronger."

"I never wanted to be the pivot point," I say, dropping my hands from his shoulders. "I never asked for any of this."

"But the Pietists gave you this role—as well as mine. We must play it to the very end."

I swallow my resentment. Is it how this is to be, from the start to the end, to be a plaything of the universe itself? Has my fate already been decided by the Song of Prophecy? Can I forge a path for myself despite that?

Perhaps Gilbert senses that resentment. He clasps both of my shoulders with his hands, saying, "We were both born to do this, Constantine."

We stay like that for a few heartbeats: Gilbert's hands a solid presence on my shoulders; me with the hollowness inside not so profound. My companion's entire countenance seems lighter, in contrast to the fragile young man from just now. That's the Gilbert I know—the one whom I can trust to always stay by my side, my focal point whenever my world is whirling in a storm of havoc.

An image of Gilbert leaning in towards me come unbidden into my mind.

My eyes must have reflected that image, for Gilbert's features shift to indicate to remember that he's remembered too. We let go of each other simultaneously, carefully placing a few steps between us.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Well, now that you've helped me with my problem, it's time I help you with yours." He offers a reassuring grim, affirming the fact that even if he isn't completely over his slight depression, he's willing to try and move forwards. The sight comforts me, for some reason. "What happened in the Cave of Three Souls? Seer Alvina looked like she's met you before."

I look at him, horrified. "How did you know?"

"Unfortunately for you, I'm particularly adept at assessing people, in spite of my shortcomings," he chuckles. "You kept your eyes pinned onto her in the beginning as though you couldn't quite believe that she was there, and she was glancing at you from time to time."

I bow my head in defeat. "I'd already met her inside the cave." Then I begin to narrate everything that had transpired inside there to Gilbert—except for Abner's loss. It's still too painful for me to talk about it.

When I'm finished, a curious glow comes into Gilbert's eyes. "No wonder you positively looked overjoyed when Seer Alvina gave the both of us access into the Cave of Three Souls. And she's your aunt?"

I nod. "She kept insisting that I call her Aunt Alvina," I complain.

"She's been desperate to meet her niece, apparently."

"Apparently." I fold my arms across my chest, tapping my foot. I haven't told him the entire story, but my real problem lies within there. Yet... How do I translate the agony reeling inside me into words? How can I relate my pain without completely breaking down?

An entire lifetime of suppressing emotions still wouldn't help me to speak objectively in this situation.

"That isn't the whole story, is it?" Gilbert says, eerily echoing my thoughts. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, he is very good at reading emotions. "There's more. And that's where you feel unsettled."

I press my lips together, eyes darting away from him. That's a sufficient enough answer.

Gilbert thinks so too, from his next words: "Look, I know it's tearing you inside out—that much is obvious from your body language. But if you don't say anything, I – I can't help you." He takes a step towards me. His hands seem to hover with indecision for a while, before boldly reaching out to take my own.

All breath is knocked out from my lungs.

"Let me help," he murmurs, as though he were coaxing a particularly stubborn horse to move. "Let me help you like how you helped me."

My vision flits towards our hands, his covering mine. Gilbert may have ice running in his blood, but at this moment, it feels as warm and comforting as a fireplace. I close my eyes, refilling my lungs with the night and dreams of sleeping children. I fight not to lean against his touch.

"Abner is gone," I finally say, practically choking on each syllabus. Sorrow closes around my throat. Breathe in, breathe out.

Gilbert's grip tightens ever so slightly. I don't dare to meet his eyes, for fear that he would see how truly lost and broken I am. "How? Why?"

Breathe in, breathe out. "It was in the Cave of Three Souls," I reply.

I tell him everything—he has the right to know. About how Abner's essence has been extracted from me and into the pool, about how the only way I can call to him now is by returning to the Cave of Three Souls.

When I'm done, I realise that my hands are shaking. Gilbert, in turn, slips his fingers through mine, allowing them to intertwine. "I don't know what to do," I say. "I feel my mind slipping further and further away from me. It happened once back when we were being attacked by the infected. Now it's occurring more frequently. Without Abner... I might not be able to control my own abilities anymore."

"I'm here," he reminds me. I hold onto his voice, anchoring myself to reality, struggling not to give in to the blank, white rage that surfaces every now and then. "No matter what you do, I'll be here by your side. As your fellow Champion of War, and as your friend."

It's my turn to have tears fill my eyes. "I'm scared. Everything is happening so quickly, and I – I don't know what to do." I swallow a desperate sob. "What if I can't master my abilities? What if I truly become the Spawn of the Devil?"

"You won't," Gilbert says so fiercely that I'm compelled to look at him. I see nothing but genuine concern and kindness, even as he sees my walls stripped down to reveal the pathetic, frail individual on the inside. "You will master your abilities, somehow. Tomorrow morning, we'll go to the Cave of Three Souls together, and we'll learn about our powers together."

I give a loud sniffle. "If you say so," is all I can manage without bursting into a full-blown break down.

He laughs. "Trust me." He flashes a crooked grin. "I haven't told you about my own abilities yet, no?"

I reciprocate the grin. "You haven't, you selfish scoundrel," I joke. "But Abner already explained everything to me." Strange, I can now talk of Abner without threatening to bowl over and start bawling like a new-born babe.

"Bet he didn't tell you what I need to do to master my abilities," says Gilbert, triumphant.

"Why would he?" I snort. "He isn't your guide."

"That's besides the point. Anyway," Gilbert makes sure to divert the topic so we don't linger too long upon the subject of Abner, "apparently I have to have controlled chaos. At least, that's what Erilda told me."

"Controlled chaos? What does that mean?"

"I suppose that it means I have to be willing to go berserk to fully unleash my capabilities." He tilts his head to the side. "You remember our duel, don't you? How I suddenly seemed to gain the upper hand in terms of physical strength and agility? Those are the innate abilities of a Champion of Pst. Ailith. The only thing is, I've had nearly an entire year to hone my mastery, yet according to Erilda, I haven't even reached a fraction of my full potential."

"Hard to imagine you being even more terrifying than you are right now," I remark.

"I know. I'm rather dubious of my full potential myself."

"What did I say about belittling yourself?"

He chuckles. "I really mean that – well, I'm afraid. What if I can't control my abilities? You've seen me in my Champion's State—and I can hardly remember anything when I tap into that. If I remember correctly, Erilda told me that these powers will become another part of me, just like how we both have enhanced physical abilities. I won't have to focus to use them."

"Why are you afraid of them? Unless they're of the same level as the Champion's State. But that's impossible." Impossible because Abner had told me once that besides the level of transcendence I've achieved just once back in Castle Larstand's scrinaius, the Champion's State is supposedly the most powerful we can be.

"Because they may not be of the same power of the Champion's State, but they may work similarly at a fundamental level. Which means I go berserk." His fingers ice over; an indication that his negative emotions are slowly eating into his mind. I squeeze them lightly, reminding him to rein in those emotions. It works. "I don't know about you, but the idea of hardly being able to recall most of everything happening around you isn't a welcome prospect."

"What do you think I'm going through now?" I quirk a brow.

He coughs, embarrassed. "I – er, apologise. I didn't mean it in that way."

"You certainly meant it in that way"—I roll my eyes—"but go on."

"So," he says. His forehead scrunches in thought. "So."

I cock my head, waiting.

"I was thinking... If mastery of my abilities requires me to somehow go berserk without actually losing control—I know it doesn't make much sense, but listen—then if your abilities are supposed to balance mine, well, your blank moments mean that you have to learn to keep them in check somehow, which will eventually translate to an innate part of you."

"I've worked that out already, thank you," I grumble. "Unfortunately, my body is intent on acting on its own will."

"Hear me out," Gilbert groans. "Pietists remind me why I have such a pig-headed friend."

"You've declared that you'll always stand by this pig-headed friend's side though. But I digress. Please, continue."

Gilbert releases an irritated huff; I school my features into neutrality. "What if our abilities balance each other out, not just in approach, but on different aspects?"

"I... don't quite follow," I admit, stumped by his words.

"What if our abilities aren't just order and chaos? What if they mean something else as well? Such as physical and cognitive abilities?"

I hum. "I recall Abner telling me that your powers would lean more towards the physical side..."

"Which means as of now, we're starting up from opposing ends. Essentially, the state in which the other is currently in should be our respective goals."

The puzzle pieces click together. "So right now, you're implying that we have to work together to improve upon ourselves?"

He bobs his head. "That's the idea. I don't know how. It's the only solution I can think of though, besides the Cave of Three Souls, of course."

"Your abilities came first," I mutter. "I don't think I'd be able to help you much."

"No. My abilities came first because your starting point is more...volatile. In a way, I was meant to experience this beforehand so that I can help you."

"Abner told me it's because you were Marked first," I say.

"Erilda gave that as one of the reasons," he counters. "Another being the one I just mentioned. The Pietists arranged this; that much is obvious."

"Perhaps..." I look around, eyes flicking over the faces of the Pietists. Sixty-six of them, in total, forming a full Circle. Could they truly have arranged all this? Did they predict Abner's loss, and factored in everything, right from the start?

If only they could step in themselves and cease being so cryptic about everything.

"Anyway, it's my theory. You're the Champion of Pst. Bronicus—you tell me if it's feasible," Gilbert sighs.

"It actually is," I agree. "Starting from opposing ends, assisting one another, and arriving at the other end with a more 'balanced' form... That makes sense."

Gilbert cracks a relieved smile. "Oh, good. I thought you were going to shoot me down a million reasons, with a thousand insults thrown in for good measure."

"I'm not that horrible," I protest. Then after a pause: "Am I?"

He squeezes my hands in response, before letting them go. I instinctively wrap them around myself, "Let's go back," he says instead. "Better catch some sleep. We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

I bob my head in acquiescence. "All right."

We head out of the clusters side by side, shoulders brushing against each other's. I wonder what the Pietists think of us right now, watching from above.

It doesn't really matter though. What matters is that although I still feel the weight of the world, I know that I have someone to fall upon. My chest feels so much lighter than before, almost as if I've completed accepted Abner's absence. I can't quite get used to that—not yet.

But this is a start.

******

A/N: Extra long chapter here. Hope you guys enjoyed it! We definitely needed the breather after those past few chapters. And looks like Constantine and Gilbert are gradually finding their roles reversed...sort of. What do you guys think of it?

You guys know the drill: Vote, comment, share and recommend!