Octavia walked far ahead of the group on their hike back to the village, tiny sapling still in hand. Death can bring forth life and beauty. She turned the bone around in her hands. Who or what did it belong to before necromancy gave it new life and purpose? And why did Kaleri give her this information? Making pretty little gardens from forgotten bones wouldn't rid this world of the scourge.

She ground her teeth together and curled her fingers around the bone. Despite her confusion, the sapling sent a warm ripple through her chest. After spending so much time in frozen desolation, the sight of something flourishing and full of life was like the sun on her face after a cold day.

"I don't trust that thing," Zhen said. "Casual observer my foot. What's there to observe? The destruction of humanity?"

Claud scoffed. "I'd rather it be an observer than and aid. You didn't see when Octavia fought that thing."

"I don't believe the ancients mean is harm," Quintus said. "Their principles align with creation, not destruction. Or so the legends say. But if what Keleri said is true, then this isn't the first time the netherborne have ravaged this world."

Octavia brushed a finger over a leaf. Your burden is heavy, Night-Blooming Rose, but your shoulders are strong. Was their truth to that too? She wasn't strong enough to stop the scourge from entering this world. What made her believe she was strong enough to stop it from destroying humanity?

She bit the inside her cheek and dashed the negative thought from her mind before it could fester. Focus on the now. Find the anchor, end the scourge and help return Hedalda to the thriving island it once was.

When they arrived at the village, the sun hung high and a patch of grey clouds lingered in the north, breathing chilling winds over the island. More villagers milled about the Cathedral grounds, filling the air with the hum of conversation.

Beatrix sat at the fire pit, speaking with Sicero, who paced back and forth in front of her. Havers had moved from the pit to a tree, where he and another villager spoke while gesturing at the horse and patting his flank.

The High Priest stopped mid pace when he spotted her, hazel eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Octavia, thank goodness. Are you hurt?" He reached out for her but she sidestepped his hand, earning raised eyebrows from a few nosy onlookers.

The familiar quiver still settled in her gut, despite the distance she put between them. "I'm alright. It was that flying netherborne from the last attack. It only wanted to talk. And it gave me this." She held up the little plant like a trophy.

He tucked his hand into his pocket, his eyes darkening as he nodded towards the plant. "I see. It was a netherborne? Using necromancy?"

"We can talk and speculate more extensively another time. For now, I want to focus on the search effort. Sicero, I'll need to borrow some of your priests." She paced back and forth in the snow, with eyes on the sapling as though it had the answers she needed. "If it's possible, I'd like everyone to gather in the common room within the hour to discuss logistics."

He nodded. "Zhen. You an Ezra get your teams together, please."

"Understood," Zhen said and disappeared through the Cathedral's entrance.

"I want to search the perimeter of the island today and focus on the village tomorrow. We'll start at the docks, work our way to the ruins then head to the eastern shore and skirt the southern side." By hook or by crook she would find this nightwalker. And end it.

"I'll join the search as well," Beatrix said, rising from the stone bench. She locked gazes with Quintus and frowned. "You're Octavia's friend, yes? The one who brought the books."

"The very one." Quintus smiled and extended a hand. "Quintus."

"Lady Beatrix. Head of the Hedalda Council." She reached for his hand, but he curled it into a fist.

His smile morphed into a sneer. "You're the one who ordered Octavia's execution."

"You—"

He leaned in until their faces were inches apart. "Oh yes, I read your little love letter to Jaredeth. Now I know who to keep an eye on while I'm here."

Octavia frowned. "You're staying?"

"Indeed. I'm almost certain this place is doomed, but there's a lot we can learn here. And I'm not leaving you alone with these snakes." He looked towards the majordomo. "Havers, I'm trusting you to get the Maiden's Glory back to Avaly in one piece. And tell my love I shall see him anon."

Havers gave a bow. "As you wish, my lord. Best of luck to you." He smiled at Octavia. "And you, my lady. Do return to Avaly in one piece."

"Sure. Sure." Quintus brushed past Beatrix and almost bumped into Winslet as she emerged from the Cathedral. "Apologies."

Winslet stared at his back for a moment before jogging over to them. "Beatrix, do you know where Levi is?"

"We left him at the Hall, but he should be here shortly. Why?"

"Lyra's been acting strange all day. I took her to the medics, and they said there's nothing wrong with her. But..." She shook her head. "I don't know. I've never seen her like this before, and I'm worried. I left her in the common room with Tallis."

"We're headed in there now, so we'll check on her." Beatrix planted a kiss on her wife's head. "I'll see you later."

Winslet gave Octavia's arm a squeeze as she walked by. "Good to see you're alright. Come visit the kids when you get a chance. They miss you."

"Of course." Octavia bit her lip. "We should head in. I want to look over a map before everyone gets there." The lie slipped easily through her lips. The maps and the search were the last things on her mind, kicked in a dark corner like forgotten, old clothes in favour of Lyra.

"I'll head to the study and grab a map," Beatrix said as they walked into the Cathedral's foyer. She broke off from the group and disappeared through a door next to the stairs.

Octavia walked side-by-side with Sicero to the common room, her stomach sinking further with every step she took. She wished he wouldn't look at her with those eyes. They overflowed with questions and regrets neither of them were ready to address.

Perhaps this was for the best. Forming a romantic bond with him would end with one or both of them being heartbroken. When she eliminated the scourge and Hedalda was on good footing, she'd return to her wandering. Move to the next village or city in need. They may never see each other again. A pang of pain radiated through Octavia's chest at the thought.

Gods, why did she allow him to suck her in by those beautiful eyes and warm smile and shy invitations to a meal? Being sentenced to death and jailed had coated her feelings for him in a layer of anxiety, but hadn't smothered them completely. Now they stood an impasse with him extending an olive branch and her treating said olive branch like a bag full of snakes.

They arrived at the common room in short order. Quintus was up there with Tallis, with his contraption of a cross on a table, explaining to Tallis how it worked and all the things he carried in it. Lyra sat cross-legged on the floor a book opened in front of her. Not her usual tome on necromancers, but a smaller book with brightly coloured drawings. The daywalkers stood in the corner furthest from the door, eyes never leaving the necromancer sitting with their precious boy.

"That's awesome, Mister Quintus," Tallis said. "How do you carry it all?"

Quintus shrugged. "Strong shoulders."

The boy looked up from Quintus' cross as Octavia walked in with Sicero. "Miss Octavia." He gave her a smile that soon faltered and ducked his head.

"Tallis, how are you?" She tucked the sapling in a windowsill speckled with bits of sunlight.

"Y-you're not mad? About yesterday. I mean, I don't want you to be mad but—"

"Tallis, it's fine. I'm not angry with you." She punctuated her point by ruffling his brown hair. "You're a good kid."

"But you should still apologize," Sicero said from behind her.

Tallis bobbed his head. "I'm sorry Miss Octavia."

"Apology accepted." She gave him a smile and turned her attention to Lyra. The girl hadn't raised her head from the book. Her eyes were steady on one part of the pages, and her hands clasped together in her lap.

Octavia knelt in front of her. "Lyra? Is everything alright?" The girl didn't budge or even blink.

"She's been like that all day," Tallis said. "She won't even talk to me anymore."

"It could just be trauma," Sicero said. "She lost her home in the last attack. Tallis, did she say anything at all today?"

The boy shrugged. "Something about lights and people not shutting up."

Octavia laid a hand on Lyra's shoulder, gave it a small squeeze and the child flinched, finally looking up.

"M-miss Octavia." She swiveled her head around, eyebrows drawn tight as she looked from person to person. "Mister Quintus? Lord Sicero? When did you all get here?"

"Don't worry about it." She smiled despite tightness in her throat. "Miss Winslet was worried about you. She said you were acting strange today. Is everything alright?"

Lyra hugged herself and looked down at the book. When she spoke again her voice was a whisper. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I keep hearing soft voices and seeing blue flashes."

Octavia's hand dropped like dead weight, and Quintus bolted upright. She wheezed in a breath and held it, hoping the pain in her lungs would wake her from this nightmare. "Do you see any flashes in here now?"

Lyra looked around again, and her eyes locked on the corner where the daywalker pair stood. "Over there."

"Alright." She nodded, hoping her smile hadn't turned into a macabre sneer. There was no denying it, but she decided on one last test for insurance. She untied the bell and placed it in Lyra's hand, before giving it a shake. Her power chased the tune as it radiated outwards, and the daywalkers fled through the walls. "Do you feel anything?"

"It's shaking," Lyra said. "Are you doing that?"

Octavia didn't answer. Her mind was too occupied with the implications of what she'd just discovered. She needed to treat this situation delicately. Keep it contained so it wouldn't cause a deadly chain reaction. But above all, she needed to protect Lyra.

"Can I be excused?" Tallis asked. "I want a snack."

She shook her head. "Stay, Tallis. Lyra's going to need a friend."

"What's going on here?"

All heads turned to the door where Levi stood with Beatrix. He locked gazes with Octavia, who still had Lyra's hand clasped in her own.

"I'm not entirely sure," Sicero said. "But Octavia will be more than happy to explain." And he looked at her with those bright, hazel eyes. So full of hope, so blind to the incoming storm.

Quintus snorted. "You all may want to sit down for this."

Octavia shot him a glare and rose to her feet, only to sit back down again in an overstuffed couch. She opened her mouth, shut it again, taking a moment to choose her words carefully. In the past, breaking such news had resulted in fighting and bloodshed and death. While she didn't expect such a rash reaction here, even a subdued one could have negative implications.

"Lyra, I want you to know, this doesn't change anything. You're still you, regardless of what happens." Octavia said. "And to everyone else, what I'm about to say needs to be kept in confidence. You're allowed to tell one medic you trust but no one else."

"What exactly are you on about, Octavia?" Levi asked.

Quintus groaned up to the roof and gestured towards Lyra. "Your child is a necromancer."

"Quintus!" Octavia hissed.

"What? It makes no sense beating around the bush about it. You know how this song and dance goes. And you're terribly off rhythm, my friend. We deliver the news. And then we deliver the comfort."

"I-I-I'm a what?" Lyra looked up at them, dark eyes like haunted black pits, overflowing with nightmares.

"A necromancer. You have sin and symphony running through your veins. Like Octavia. Like me. Like those poor souls the Divine City hangs on a regular basis. Happy Necroday!"

"Quintus!" Octavia curled her hands to stop herself from throttling him. "You're not helping."

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Levi asked, leveling them with his gaze.

Quintus shrugged and kicked his feet up on the table, closing his eyes. "Does it look like anyone here is laughing?"

Beatrix put herself between her colleague and Quintus, but addressed Octavia when she spoke. "How can you be sure? It could be trauma. She just lost her home."

Octavia held back the groan climbing up her throat. She'd heard it all. Maybe they ate something bad. Maybe they caught a bug. Maybe they hit their head. "The soft voices she hears are whispers and the flashes are daywalkers. She felt the vibration of my power when I shook this bell." Octavia held up the object in question. "Lyra's at the age when the power usually manifests itself. There's no mistaking it."

Levi shook his head and gave a dismissive wave, pacing back to the front of the room. "That can't be right. I have no necromancers in my family, and neither did her mother."

"That's not how it works. Anyone can be a necromancer. It's not hereditary. There's no magic ritual or whatever nonsense you've been fed. She's a necromancer, because she was born one."

Lyra's eyes welled with tears and she looked down at her hands as though they belonged to someone else. "I'm... a necromancer? Does this mean everyone is going to hate me now?"

"No, Lyra, no one hates you," Sicero said.

"Don't lie to me!" she screamed, her voice a hoarse falsetto. "Miss Octavia is a necromancer, and you all hate her. You had her locked up. Are you going to lock me up too, Mister Sicero? Are you?" Her fists shook as she ducked her head and sobbed, tears running down her face and dripping onto the book.

Octavia rubbed her eyes. How lovely, they told the kids about her being locked up. What else did she know about? The hangings, the beheadings, the torture. The looks of disgust and indifference.

Did she have any dreams, any aspirations? Did she know she would have to abandon them? No one wanted a necromancer teaching their children or running their towns or even cleaning their houses. Once one learned they were a necromancer, that was all they could be.

They lived on the fringes of society with their heads down and mouths shut. Unless they became a professional liar like Octavia. Or a radical rebel like Quintus.

"Don't cry, Lyra," Tallis said, kneeling next to his friend. "I don't hate you, or Miss Octavia. I think it's cool that you're a necromancer." His assurances didn't quiet Lyra's sobs, but she leaned on him and swiped in vain at her tears.

Levi paced to the front of the room, raking his hands through his dreads. "I can't..." He shook his head and looked towards the door like it was shelter in a raging storm. "I need some air."

"No, you don't." Octavia rose from her seat and grabbed a fistful of Levi's shirt before he could escape. "Your daughter needs you. Talk to her."

He wheeled around and swatted her hand away. "What am I supposed to say?! Congratulations? I'm proud of you?" Anger hardened his gaze, but something peeked past the veneer of fury. Fear. It shied behind the anger like a child behind their mother's skirt.

Good. She could work with fear. "Tell her she won't be shunned for something she has no control over. Tell her she will be loved, unconditionally. Tell her she will always be more than just a necromancer and do everything in your power to make it so." Octavia wave a hand in Lyra's direction. "She's terrified, Levi. Set her mind at ease."

The Councilman gave a jerky nod, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He looked past her at his daughter, and the fear in his eyes redoubled.

"Go to her," she said through gritted teeth.

Another nod. He brushed by her, his movements stiff, and knelt in front of his daughter.

"Papa, I'm scared." Lyra said between sobs. "What's going to happen to me?"

Levi hissed in a breath and when he spoke, his voice quivered. "You're safe here, I promise. This doesn't change anything. You're still my precious girl."

She flung herself into her father's arms and held onto him like he alone could protect her from the cruel world that awaited her.

As Lyra and her father embraced, Octavia sent a silent prayer up that the child could lead a seminormal life. She'd long stopped resenting herself for her lot, but she wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Especially not one as young as Lyra. No doubt the child had been told all her life that necromancers were the epitome of evil. Now the people who'd shunned her kind were the ones she had to look to for love and support.

Fate had the worst sense of humour.