[Pandora Karsalia]

The night was drawing to a close. There would be celebrations for a week yet, honoring the ascension of the dead, solidifying the joys and hopes of the living, but the ceremonies would be over soon. She had given them speeches, promises, endless smiles, assurances that the days would only continue to grow brighter over the next year. Sometimes, it even felt real.

Pandora sat at the head of the Queen's table, exhausted, surrounded by two-dozen of her highest Lords. The feast had ended some time ago, but the celebration would go on until the dawn's sun forced Toamna's quiet light from the sky.

She let herself be distracted by Ildounne and his troupe of entertainers, spinning, leaping, and cartwheeling across the festival hall, twirling firebrands amid streams of silk. His request to perform for the Nox had come as a surprise to Pandora, but there had been something genuine in his eyes as he'd asked, depthless trust in her. It meant more than anything else had to her so far today.

What had happened in the last year? Why did tonight feel so empty, so superficial? True, it had been a year of peace, but what kind of Queen allowed herself to grieve only in times of war? What kind of heart wept only at spectacular deaths?

It was true, though. So little had happened that the Nox seemed more ritual, a gesture to long forgotten days. Was this what the future would hold for her, the passions of her youth receding until the world became a place of drudging motions and routine? Could complacency be the birthplace of tyranny?

Pandora sighed. She was too tired to trust her own thoughts. Instead, she let her eyes wander over the spinning flames and swirling colors of the dancers. Better to enjoy the night for what it was. This was what she had fought for, after all.

Music mixed with voices, rhythms, and murmurs among the shadows of the hall, the gleam of candle-flame on white gowns and vestments. She could the sheen of sweat on Ildounne's painted face in the firelight, the exuberant grin as he juggled a score of burning brands. Such talent... how long had it been denied to the world, save in scornful mockery at Maesha's foot? It gave Pandora hope to see Ildounne in such good spirits.

The scene was enchanting, mesmerizing, but there was... something else, suddenly, demanding her attention. Discordant. Though the magic had fled her with the destruction of the Book of Secrets, the Queen still retained a sense for the presence of unearthly powers, and something shuddered in the hall now.

Air rippled, displaced by forces unseen. Stark sound rang in Pandora's ears, distant bells shattering again and again. Coldness crawled over her skin. The flames died.

Darkness breathed, echoed with hushed gasps. Pandora sat straight in her chair, the carved oak digging against her spine. Something stood between the grand doors of the hall, drawing every gaze, holding every heart helpless.

Light crawled at the goddess's feet. Every step she advanced spread sickly silver, brightening and cold.

Pandora struggled to breathe, not for the crushing presence making its way toward her, but for the familiarity of the divine figure.

[Falla]

She had no time for this. Already, the echo of unanswered prayers was a chorus of madness in her skull. Thousands – millions – of unsaved souls wallowed in the ether, helpless and unable to be helped. No, this was no holy visitation, no sanctification of the night. Falla could do nothing for them, but they... Pandora, could do much for her.

You knew him best. You saw his heart. Now see what he has done to mine.

“Pandora... please, do not kneel. There is no need. Not between us.” She had sought the Athiyk Queen out not only for her bond with Ryuko, but for the quiet, unshakeable strength that lay beneath that graceful facade. If a goddess must ask the aid of mortals, there was no one else in all the worlds Falla would rather have by her side.

Slow and unsure, Pandora rose, her ivory gown cast pallid in Falla's sickly light. She met the goddess' eyes, allowed herself a trace of a smile. Two years and countless dead had passed since they'd last looked upon each other, but neither had forgotten. Falla knew she was welcome here.

The Queen spoke. “My lady, Moon-Sister. Falla. The welcome of all my court is yours. You honor us beyond measure.” Her words hung with reverence, but in Pandora's eyes there was only warmth and friendship.

But there could be no smile in return, no rush to a comforting embrace. The light swelled around the goddess, and Pandora could not look away. She saw first the rot, of course, the tumors and oozing pustules rising up Falla's neck. Horror and revulsion that even a Queen's mask could not hide. And then, her eyes drifting, staring at the dim figure at Falla's heel, Niya's shade kneeling and helpless.

“What... what has happened, Falla?” The thought was clear in that tearful gaze. Who would do this to you? Who would dare? Not even Braen....

In another age, the goddess would have had tears of her own for an answer, but she was a dry thing now, shriveled, and mercy had withered with the dying gardens. She could spare them nothing. “A new hand has seized the scepter of the Corrupt. Where Braen played a game of long shadows and subtle hatreds, a beast now ravages in naked dominance. Bloodied talons grip the thread of all our fates. A dragon's claw.” She fought down the urge to touch a hand to her throat, to cover the still-livid scars.

Denial warred with doomed acceptance in the Queen. She'd feared for so long, hoped those fears had been naught but nightmares, and now she knew.

“You loved him, I know,” she said with as much compassion as she could muster. “You trusted him with everything within you, your terrors and your hope. I know, Pandora.”

“Why? What would drive him to this? You were his goddess!” She leaned upon the table for support, and after a moment relented, falling back into her chair, whimpering more to herself, “He never wanted to hurt anyone....”

Falla understood grief, far too well. But there was no time for it now. They needed to act. “Other hungers rule him now. Terrible powers have made of him their host, and do not mistake – he cannot be saved. Damnation found him waiting with open arms. And despair has turned to endless wrath within him, endless ambition. He will make war upon the gods, and he will kill them all. Even now, Vandikyr yields to his advances and the vassals of the Dark will soon clamber to heel before his throne. And...”

Pandora was weeping, openly, the eyes of her court forgotten. But she heard the words, Falla knew. She had to hear them.

“And...” the goddess said once more, the words dust in her throat. “He has taken my brother.”