Those wings, in particular, caught Alphonse’s attention and kept it. Presumably, they weren’t just for ornamentation but actually sustained flight. But, even as large as they were, how could those wings hold up the weight of the woman? Birds had hollow bones, she knew this from her anatomy and structure classes, and bats were equally lightweight…
This woman looked to be solid muscle and bone, nothing delicate or fragile. She had furs and leather and blades strapped to her body, and Alphonse added their weight to her estimation of what those glorious wings could carry.
How did she fly?
She must be immensely strong.
The healer, rooted to the spot, stared as the winged warrior approached. Amber eyes flickered over her face, blue eyes, dark paint circling her lashes and tracing lines down her cheeks…
The warrior was perhaps the most striking creature Alphonse had ever seen in her entire life, and even the sickness within her seemed stunned and silent.
༄
At the sight of the pair of travelers around the bend, Delyth stopped. She had built the vassal up so much in her mind as this epitome of a warrior Goddess made mortal flesh, that she thought the human Enyo chose would be wild and powerful and threatening.
Instead, she almost felt disappointed.
Perhaps it was the malicious influence of the sword still gripped in her hands, but to Delyth, both of them looked so fragile. The male was tall and pale with blond hair that looked as though he spent much of his time pushing it haphazardly away from his face until tufts stuck up at awkward angles. He had pleasant enough features, she supposed, but his eyes were wide in surprise or fear. It was stupid to give away so much emotion, so plainly. She could be an enemy.
With some effort, Delyth sheathed the sword. She no longer required it and it was fogging her senses.
The girl was standing still, though where her companion had seemed frightened, she stared without qualm. Strange, because she was even smaller than the male, slim and narrow-shouldered. Her face was soft and delicate, her hair mostly hidden behind a veil. To Delyth, she seemed fawn-like, beautiful and wide-eyed.
They were nothing like what she had been expecting.
Delyth slowed as she neared them. “Which of you is Vassal to the Goddess Enyo?” They just looked baffled, so the warrior sighed and repeated the question, this time in the common tongue.
The girl glanced at the boy and then shook her head, eyes returning again to Delyth’s wings. “I apologize, warrior, we don’t know of whom you speak,” she answered, her voice soft and lilting.
Delyth blinked, struck by sudden and uncomfortable uncertainty. The sword had led her here, to these two. She doubted any others were near, and the High Priestess had been clear; Calamity knew only Enyo.
Could the vassal both carry the Goddess and be unaware of her?
Delyth looked between the two in some confusion. The girl stepped closer, prompting the boy to call out a name in some agitation. “Alphonse!” He reached out for her arm but didn’t touch her.
She, on the other hand, just looked up. Delyth met the girl’s amber gaze and tried to remember the last time anyone had looked at her so frankly and openly. It had definitely been some time, and then it hadn’t been a stranger.
“It's you, isn’t it?” Delyth said, her low voice a touch softer. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she became more certain as she spoke it. Perhaps, it was the sword. “And you don’t know?”
The pupils of those amber eyes widened and then contracted, focusing intensely on the warrior until something shifted within. Nothing tangible, nothing overly clear… It was just that one moment she was the doe, and the next a wildcat.
Her eyes found Calamity over Delyth’s shoulder, and something about the way she smiled sent waves of unease rippling through the priestess’s belly.
“Calamity,” the girl purred, not in common but in the old tongue—a language few, but priests spoke any longer.
The halfbreed kneeled but did not unsheathe the sword. “Yes,” she said in the same language.“I carry Calamity in service to the Vassal.”
The boy spoke up, his voice laced with anxiety. “She wants the sword, can’t you see?” He gave no indication of having understood Delyth’s words. “Don’t give it to her. She’ll kill us both.”
Delyth ignored him. She was not chosen by the sword to die at the hands of the one she served. Instead, she looked up at the vassal for some acknowledgment or command.
✶
Etienne reached towards Alphonse as hands once made for healing, now gauntlets of war, grabbed for that sword. It practically hummed with anticipation, and pure joy contorted her features, her eyes widening, her lips drawing back in an almost manic smile. Joyful but sickly—off, like something spoiled.
The barbarian reached back and grasped the hilt of the monstrous sword she wore, half raising it out of her scabbard. Etienne lunged forward, despite knowing the risk of injury to himself.
“Alphonse, don’t let her take it!” His voice was desperate now, pleading. He could see her getting hold of the weapon and turning on him, or the Cabot, could see Alphonse waking up with her gentle healer’s hands stained by the blood of either one of them.
“Don’t let her turn you into a monster, Alphonse. This isn’t who you are!”
The warrior woman paused at that, her eyes widening. Had what he said meant something to her? Etienne didn’t care. He just couldn’t let the thing within Alphonse have that sword.
༄
Her fingertips were a mere breath away from the sword when the girl froze, growling and then gasping in fear all in the
