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Chapter Text

The cabin they'd been assigned for their journey back to Indol was typical for a solider of Mòrag's rank - spacious by military standards, with polished wood paneling and a porthole that offered an unobstructed view of the Cloud Sea. A desk was bolted beneath the window, and the sleeping arrangements spoke to Mor Ardain's particular hierarchy: one decently large, proper bed with crisp linens, and on the other side of the room, a narrower cot clearly meant for a Blade.

Brighid's gaze lingered on the smaller bed for a moment, something unreadable flickering across her features. Though she expected it, the sight of it still stung - a physical reminder of the careful distance they would still need to maintain in public, of the assumptions baked into military protocol that attempted to separate them even here, in private quarters, despite the steps they had taken together.

Mòrag noticed immediately, as she always did when something troubled her Blade.

"Which nightstand would you prefer for your journal, Brighid?" Mòrag asked casually as she moved to hang her spare uniforms in the wardrobe, her tone deliberately light. "Left or right?"

Brighid turned, meeting her Driver's amber eyes. The question was simple, the implication clear - there was only one bed with nightstands and Mòrag was making it unmistakably plain they would share it. The smaller cot might as well not exist.

Something warm unfurled in Brighid's chest, the sting of that second bed dissolving under the quiet certainty of Mòrag's words. "Left, I think."

"Then I'll take the right." Mòrag's lips curved slightly as she continued unpacking with precise movements.

Brighid retrieved her journal from her belongings and crossed to the bed. As she passed Mòrag, she paused, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. "I love you," she whispered against her skin, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of everything they'd finally acknowledged.

Color bloomed across Mòrag's cheeks, warmth spreading through her chest at the simple declaration. "I love you too," she murmured back, her voice equally quiet but certain.

Brighid's smile was radiant as she continued to the nightstand, carefully placing her journal in its new home.

They worked in comfortable silence, the moment settling over them with gentle warmth, but as Brighid finished arranging her few belongings, she found herself watching Mòrag with growing concern. Her Driver moved with practiced efficiency, hanging her spare uniforms with military precision, arranging documents with careful hands, but the signs of exhaustion were there for those who knew how to read them - the careful way she avoided putting too much weight on her injured side, the tightness around her eyes that spoke of pain not quite banished despite rounds of healing, the subtle stiffness in her shoulders that betrayed how much the day had already cost her.

And there, already laid out on the desk in neat stacks, were reports - casualty assessments from Temperantia, diplomatic correspondence regarding the ceasefire, intelligence briefings on Roderich's movements. Documents that had nothing to do with protecting the Aegis and everything to do with Imperial intelligence operations. Mòrag had clearly gathered them before departure, had brought them despite His Majesty’s reassignment of her duties, still positioning herself as the Emperor's shield rather than standing fully beside Rex.

She hadn't let go. Not truly.

Brighid's jaw tightened as understanding settled over her. This would become a problem if left unchecked - Mòrag trying to serve two masters, unable to fully commit to the path ahead because she continued to carry the burden of past responsibilities.

She needed to redirect her.

When everything was in its place, she moved toward the door with deliberate purpose, her tone carrying the gentle insistence that Mòrag rarely argued against. "Come with me. Fresh air will do you good."

Mòrag paused mid-reach toward the desk, her fingers hovering over the top report. For a moment it seemed she might object, might cite the urgency of the work waiting for her attention, but something in Brighid's expression - a quiet concern that saw through her composure to the weariness beneath, that recognized the instinct to hide behind paperwork rather than acknowledge exhaustion - made her withdraw her hand and nod instead.

"Very well."

The corridor outside their cabin was quiet, most of the crew attending to their duties in other parts of the ship. Mòrag's hand found Brighid's briefly as they walked, a small intimacy permitted in this relatively private space, before the sound of approaching footsteps made them separate with practiced ease.

Oi! There you are!"

Nia rounded the corner with Dromarch at her side, her ears already flattened in a way that suggested this wasn't going to be a friendly chat.

"I was just coming to check on you. Make sure you hadn't collapsed or done something equally stupid." She stopped a few paces away, arms crossing as her golden eyes swept over Mòrag with the assessing gaze of someone cataloging injuries. "Right then - sit down. You're getting another round of healing whether you like it or not."

Mòrag straightened instinctively, the mask of composure sliding into place. "I assure you, I am quite-"

"Save it." Nia pointed at a bench built into the corridor wall. "I can see the way you’re standing – you’re still favoring one side. You're not fooling anyone pretending you're fine. Now sit."

Brighid's hand pressed gently but firmly against Mòrag's lower back - not quite pushing, but making clear whose side she was on in this particular battle. Mòrag glanced between her Blade and the Gormotti healer, recognizing that between the two of them, resistance was futile.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she moved to the bench and sat.

Nia knelt beside her, Dromarch settling close enough for their connection to strengthen. "This is going to take a few minutes. Try not to squirm."

Her hands pressed against Mòrag's side, and immediately warmth began to flow - not like the consuming heat of Brighid's fire, but something gentler, more probing. Nia's eyes closed in concentration as she channeled ether from Dromarch, her awareness spreading through Mòrag's body like water finding every crack and crevice.

"Bruised ribs," Nia muttered, her brow furrowing. "They’re still tender. And you've got torn muscles in your abdomen and shoulder that haven't fully knit yet." Her eyes opened, fixing Mòrag with an unimpressed glare. "How are you even standing upright without wincing?"

"Training," Mòrag replied evenly, though she couldn't quite suppress the slight hiss of discomfort as Nia's ether found a particularly damaged area.

"Unbelievable." Nia shook her head but didn't stop the healing, her hands moving with practiced precision as light pulsed beneath her palms. "You lot are all the same. Rex throws himself at every enemy like he's invincible and you stand there taking explosions like it's just another day of the week."

Despite the sharpness of her words, there was genuine care in the way Nia worked - careful attention to each injury, thorough assessment of what needed immediate treatment versus what could wait. Brighid watched from nearby, her flames dancing with quiet gratitude for the Gormotti girl who had pulled Mòrag back from death's edge.

As the healing ether worked through torn muscle and bruised bone, Mòrag felt the constant background ache she'd been ignoring begin to ease. Not disappear entirely - injuries that severe took time - but the sharp edges dulled, the restrictions on her movement loosened.

When Nia finally pulled back, there was a faint sheen of sweat on her brow from the effort. "That's better, but you're still not at full strength. Not by a long shot."

Mòrag straightened carefully, testing her range of motion. The improvement was noticeable - breathing came easier, the weight of her coat no longer pulled quite so painfully at her shoulder. "Thank you, Nia. Not just for this, but..." She paused, meeting the girl's eyes with uncharacteristic vulnerability. "For saving my life in Temperantia. I haven't properly expressed my gratitude."

Nia's ears flattened against her head, color rising in her cheeks as she quickly stood and brushed off her hands. "Yeah, well. Couldn't very well let you die after you went through the trouble of saving us, could I?" The words were meant to be flippant, but they came out softer than intended.

"Nevertheless, I am in your debt."

"Right. Good." Nia fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with sincere gratitude. "Anyway, you're not off the hook. While we're traveling, I'll be hunting you down for more healing sessions. This kind of damage takes time to fix properly, and I'm not having you keel over because you thought you could just push through it."

"I apologize for the burden," Mòrag said quietly. "I will endeavor not to require your services again in the future."

Nia let out a bark of laughter, the tension breaking. "Yeah, good luck with that. I've seen the way you fight." She shook her head, but there was fondness beneath the exasperation. "Just... try not to get blown up again for at least a few weeks, yeah? Give a girl a break."

She turned to leave, Dromarch rising gracefully to follow, but paused after a few steps. Without looking back, her voice came quieter, carrying a sincerity she rarely allowed to surface in front of others.

"I'm glad you're staying, Mòrag. With us, I mean. Rex would've moped for weeks if you'd gone back to Mor Ardain."

Before Mòrag could respond, Nia had already continued down the corridor, her footsteps quick with what might have been embarrassment at having revealed too much.

Brighid's lips curved in a small smile as she moved to Mòrag's side, offering a hand to help her stand. "She cares more than she lets on."

"As do many of them, it seems," Mòrag murmured, something close to wonder touching her voice as she accepted Brighid's assistance. The healing had helped, but her body still protested the movement - a reminder that recovery would take time, whether she liked it or not.

"Come," Brighid said gently, her hand sliding to the small of Mòrag's back as they made their way through the ship's passages. "Fresh air, as I promised. And no arguments about needing to work - doctor's orders, after all."

Mòrag's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. "I suppose I have little choice in the matter."

"None whatsoever," Brighid agreed warmly.

When they reached the stairs to the upper deck, Mòrag's hand wrapped gently around Brighid's wrist - a brief, grounding touch of connection before she withdrew it as they emerged into the open air.

The deck was bathed in late afternoon light, golden and warm, the wind carrying the salt-sweet scent of the Cloud Sea. The Titan suspended above cast its massive shadow across portions of the vessel, the living creature's slow breathing creating subtle shifts in the air pressure. The main gathering area near the bow was already occupied - Rex and Pyra stood at the forward railing, the young Driver gesturing animatedly while Pyra listened with patient affection. Tora had commandeered a section of the starboard side, Poppi beside him as he made adjustments to something mechanical. Zeke leaned against the cabin wall with studied nonchalance, Pandoria at his side chatting quietly.

Mòrag paused at the top of the stairs, and Brighid felt her Driver's subtle shift in trajectory - not toward the group, but along the port side where a smaller observation area offered a view of the others without requiring direct interaction. Brighid said nothing, simply followed, understanding that years of military protocol had trained Mòrag to maintain distance from those under her command - the Special Inquisitor did not socialize with soldiers, did not blur the lines between authority and camaraderie. Such habits couldn't be undone in a single decision, no matter how much she might want them to be.

They found a spot near the aft railing, partially obscured by the shadow of the cabin structure. Close enough to see the group, far enough to maintain the comfortable distance that rank and habit demanded. Mòrag's hands rested on the railing, her posture perfect despite her injuries, but Brighid noticed the way her eyes tracked the movements of their companions - not with a commander's assessment of tactical capability, but with something softer.

"Mòrag is here! Mòrag is here!" Tora's excited voice carried across the deck as he spotted them, his wings flapping with enthusiasm.

Several heads turned. Rex's face brightened immediately, and he raised a hand in greeting. Mòrag responded with a slight tip of her hat - a gesture that acknowledged them without committing to join them. Tora, however, seemed to take her attention as an invitation for something more.

"Meh meh meh! Tora will show Special Inquisitor amazing new upgrades!" The Nopon's wings buzzed frantically as he turned to Poppi with barely contained excitement. "Poppi! Demonstrate Variable Saber Mark II enhancement!"

"Masterpon, perhaps now is not appropriate time for-" Poppi began, but Tora was already gesturing wildly.

"Is perfect time! Show Friend Mòrag how Tora genius knows no bounds!"

What followed was an enthusiastic if somewhat chaotic demonstration involving spinning blade configurations and what appeared to be an experimental energy output system that made Poppi's Variable Saber glow with impressive intensity. Tora provided running commentary throughout, his voice carrying across the deck with pride that bordered on boastful as he clearly tried to impress the watching Special Inquisitor.

When the demonstration concluded - Poppi managing to execute the moves flawlessly despite her Masterpon's over-excited instructions - Mòrag brought her hands together in polite, measured applause. The gesture was entirely sincere, a recognition of genuine technical achievement, but there was something so perfectly formal about it that Brighid couldn't help the laugh that escaped her - warm and genuine and entirely delighted by her Driver's characteristic response.

"Oh, don't encourage him!" Nia called out from where she'd joined Dromarch near the bow, her ears flattening in exasperation even as a grin tugged at her lips. "His head's already big enough without you egging him on!"

"Tora not have big head! Tora have appropriately sized head for genius-level intellect!" the Nopon protested, which only made Brighid's laughter deepen and drew a smile from Mòrag herself.

The exchange settled something in the air between them all - a recognition that Mòrag's presence, even from a distance, was welcome. That her formality wasn't rejection but simply the way she knew how to engage, and that they could meet her there, could find humor and warmth in the space between distance and intimacy.

Brighid moved to stand close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, her presence a steady anchor as they continued to watch. Rex's easy laughter as he teased Tora about showing off, Nia's sharp wit as she traded barbs with the Nopon while Dromarch offered dry observations, the comfortable silence that existed between Zeke and Pandoria as they observed the others - all of it spoke of bonds forged through choice rather than duty.

"They're not what I expected," Mòrag said quietly, something almost wistful in her tone. "I have spent my entire life serving. Every bond I formed was filtered through duty first. Soldiers under my command. Political allies. Even family - my relationship with His Majesty has always been shaped by the crown he wears."

"And now?"

"Now I am watching people who choose each other freely, without rank or obligation binding them. They could walk away at any time, but they choose to stay, choose to stand together. Not because duty binds them, but because they want to." Her voice carried something close to wonder. "I am beginning to understand what that means."

"There is something beautiful in that, isn't there?" Brighid's hand found Mòrag's on the railing, fingers intertwining where the angle of their bodies hid the gesture from casual view. "Bonds freely chosen."

Mòrag nodded, her gaze still on their companions.

"My previous Drivers never understood that," Brighid continued softly. "They commanded me into battle alone, used my flames as they saw fit, but never once considered what I might choose for myself. You were different from the start."

"I, too, sent you away," Mòrag said quietly, old guilt threading through her voice. "In Torigoth."

"You’ll recall that was my suggestion… and it tore you apart to agree." Brighid's thumb traced gentle patterns across Mòrag's knuckles. "Duty might have led us to resonate, to become bound as Driver and Blade, but everything that came after? The trust we built, the way we learned to move as one, the choice to stand beside each other rather than simply use each other - that was never an order I followed or a command you gave. What we've built together was chosen, Mòrag. By both of us."

The words struck deeper than Mòrag expected, resonating with what she had just witnessed in their companions. She was capable of this - of bonds forged by choice rather than duty. Brighid had just proven it, had held up a mirror to what they'd built together and shown her that she'd been creating exactly what she admired in others without fully recognizing it.

Something swelled in her chest - gratitude and love and the overwhelming need to express it in a way that transcended words. Her body moved instinctively, turning toward Brighid, her free hand rising as if to cup her Blade's face, as if to close the distance between them properly.

Brighid's flames flickered with surprise. They were in full view of the deck - soldiers moving about their duties, their companions gathered near the bow, anyone could glance in their direction and see-

Mòrag caught herself, the ingrained awareness of propriety reasserting itself even as every fiber of her being wanted to ignore it. Her hand stilled mid-motion, hovering in the space between them, and she saw the understanding dawn in Brighid's expression - the recognition of what Mòrag had almost done, what she wanted to do.

Instead, Mòrag compromised and shifted closer, closing what little distance propriety had maintained between them. The movement subtle enough to escape casual notice but deliberate enough that Brighid felt it - a quiet seeking of warmth, of connection, of the comfort that came from standing beside someone who understood not just her duty but her heart.

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" Mòrag's lips curved despite herself, warmth spreading through her chest.

"Only when it comes to you," Brighid replied, her flames dancing with quiet satisfaction.

Across the deck, Rex glanced over at the pair standing in the shadows, and something made him pause mid-sentence. Pyra followed his gaze, tilting her head curiously.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Rex admitted, watching as Brighid leaned closer to say something to Mòrag, her voice too low to carry. Whatever she said made Mòrag's lips curve - not the formal smile she gave in diplomatic situations, but something genuine and unguarded. A faint color touched her cheeks, visible even from this distance, and she ducked her head slightly as if embarrassed by her own reaction.

There was something in the way they stood together - not quite touching but somehow occupying the same space, as if an invisible thread connected them. The way Brighid's flames seemed to burn a little brighter when she looked at Mòrag. The way Mòrag's rigid posture softened when Brighid was near.

"They seem... different," Rex said slowly, trying to articulate what he was seeing. "Closer, maybe? Like something changed."

Pyra's expression grew knowing, a small smile playing at her lips. "Or maybe they simply stopped pretending they weren't as close as they've always been."

Rex blinked, processing that. "You mean they were... before?"

"What I mean is that some bonds run deeper than words can express," Pyra said gently. “And sometimes it takes nearly losing someone to find the courage to acknowledge what was always there."

Rex thought about that, watching as Mòrag said something that made Brighid laugh - a sound like crackling fire, warm and bright. The way Brighid's hand moved, so briefly, to touch Mòrag's arm. The way Mòrag didn't pull away.

Something warm unfurled in his chest, a happiness that had nothing to do with him but felt important anyway. He didn't fully understand what he was seeing, couldn't name the exact nature of their connection, but he recognized the shape of it. The same fierce devotion he was beginning to understand with Pyra - the same willingness to risk everything for the person standing beside you.

"I'm glad," he said simply. "Whatever it is. I'm glad they have it."

Pyra squeezed his hand, her smile widening. "So am I."

They weren’t the only ones watching.

From his position near the cabin wall, Zeke's gaze kept drifting toward the aft section where Mòrag and Brighid stood. He'd been doing it since they'd emerged on deck, unable to help himself, and Pandoria had noticed. She always noticed.

"Still chewing on it?" she asked quietly, her usual playfulness tempered with understanding.

"She nearly died," Zeke said, the words coming out more raw than he intended. "Stayed in that control room when everyone else ran. Would have been vaporized if Brighid hadn't shielded her."

"And?"

"And I told her she was the blind servant of a corrupt system. Basically implied she had no mind of her own." His jaw tightened. "I was wrong."

Pandoria's hand found his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Yeah. You were."

He watched as Brighid leaned in to murmur something to Mòrag, watched the way Mòrag's expression softened in response. There was something between them that went beyond Driver and Blade, something that made his own certainties feel suddenly unstable.

"She chose," he said quietly. "When it mattered, she chose to act without waiting for orders. To sacrifice herself for strangers, for her country’s enemy. That's not blind obedience. That's..."

"Conviction," Pandoria finished. "The kind that comes from choosing your principles rather than having them chosen for you."

Zeke nodded slowly, filing the observation away. He wasn't ready to approach Mòrag, wasn't ready to admit his error aloud, but he was beginning to understand that perhaps his assumptions about duty and service had been too narrow. That maybe someone could serve a crown without being enslaved by it. That duty freely chosen wasn't the same as chains at all.

It was an uncomfortable realization, one that required him to reexamine long-held beliefs. But watching Mòrag - scarred and bandaged and still standing, still choosing to follow the Aegis and throw herself into the path of danger for people she'd only recently met - he couldn't deny it.

"I should apologize," he muttered.

"Eventually," Pandoria agreed. "When you've figured out what you're actually sorry for."

Time ticked by with an air of peace spreading across the deck. The sun began its final descent toward the horizon, painting the clouds in shades of amber and rose. Mòrag had been silent for a while, simply watching as their companions settled into evening routines - Tora finally finishing his enthusiastic explanations to a patient Poppi, Rex and Pyra moving to watch the sunset together, Nia joining Dromarch near the bow where the light caught the edges of her silver hair.

She couldn't remember the last time she had spent so many waking hours without duty or obligation demanding her attention. The novelty of it was both freeing and unsettling - as though she'd forgotten how to simply exist without purpose driving every moment. Eventually, the familiar pull began to reassert itself, that ingrained need to be productive, to serve, to justify her presence through action rather than stillness.

She shifted, preparing to withdraw her hand from the railing and return to their cabin where reports waited with patient inevitability. But Brighid's fingers tightened around hers, anchoring her in place.

"Stay with me a while longer," Brighid said softly, shifting closer until her warmth enveloped Mòrag's side. "The sunset is beautiful from here."

The protest died on Mòrag's lips as she turned to look at her Blade. The fading light painted Brighid's features in shades of gold and crimson, catching in her hair and casting her pale skin in an ethereal glow. Her flames danced brighter against the sunset's backdrop, blue fire reflecting the sky's vibrant hues until she seemed less a creature of this world and more something from legend - ancient, powerful, and achingly beautiful.

But it was the expression on Brighid's face that truly stopped her - the peaceful serenity there, the contentment of someone who asked for nothing more than this moment, this companionship, this quiet joy of existing together without purpose beyond the sharing of it.

How could she deny her this?

"Certainly," Mòrag murmured, turning back to face the horizon as she allowed herself to lean slightly into Brighid's shoulder - a gesture she never would have permitted before, but which felt natural now.

For several heartbeats, they simply stood together in comfortable silence, watching the sky transform. Then, as the light deepened from gold to crimson, something caught Mòrag's eye on the distant horizon. A pale shape rising from the clouds, its spires catching the last rays of sunlight like a crown of alabaster and judgment.

Indol.

The sight of it sent an involuntary chill down her spine. They would be there within days, would stand once more before the Praetor whose serene cruelty had orchestrated so much suffering. The memory of his calculating gaze, the way he had dismissed her in front of the Aegis, the timing of Roderich's arrival and Aeshma's awakening - all of it coalesced into a knot of dread in her chest.

She had escaped the immediate consequences of Temperantia. Had secured peace with Uraya, earned her freedom from the Empire's strictest demands. But the web of conspiracy that had nearly claimed her life - and the lives of her present company - remained largely intact. Amalthus still sat on his throne of piety, pulling strings she could barely perceive, orchestrating catastrophes with the patience of someone who measured time in centuries rather than years.

And now they were sailing directly back into his reach.

Brighid felt the tension return to Mòrag's shoulders, saw the way her jaw tightened as she stared at the distant Titan. She followed Mòrag's gaze to Indol's pale spires, understanding immediately.

"We're not there yet," Brighid said softly, her thumb tracing small circles against Mòrag's hand.

Mòrag exhaled slowly, recognizing the gentle redirection for what it was. "No. We are not."

"Then stay here with me." Brighid's voice carried no demand, only invitation. "Indol will still be waiting for us in the morning. But this moment - this sunset, this peace - it's ours for now."

It went against every instinct Mòrag had cultivated - to let a threat loom on the horizon without planning, without preparing, without the armor of duty to shield her from uncertainty. But Brighid's warmth anchored her, and behind them she could hear Tora's laughter, Rex's quiet voice, the familiar sounds of companionship that had become her new normal.

Mòrag let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and turned deliberately away from Indol's distant silhouette. The western sky still held traces of amber and rose, and Brighid's flames danced gently in the gathering darkness, blue fire reflecting the day's final light.

"Very well," Mòrag murmured, allowing the last of the tension to ease from her shoulders as she leaned more fully into Brighid's side.

Brighid tightened her grip on her Driver’s hand, her flames warming the space between them against the evening chill. They stood together in comfortable silence as the last light faded from the horizon and spoke no more of what waited ahead.

Chapter Text

In Indol’s high chambers, the Praetor awaited them, perched upon his throne beneath a mural of the World Tree. His smile was mild, but the lines around his eyes carried something colder - calculation dressed in piety.

“The heroes of Temperantia,” his greeted, his tone smooth, almost congratulatory, yet laced with something sharper beneath. “When Fan la Norne’s body was returned to us, I feared the worst had befallen you all.”

Rex felt his heart seize at the memory of Jin's blade piercing through her Core Crystal. He gritted his teeth and took a breath. “Your Eminence, I’m sorry we couldn’t protect her. She… she’s the reason we got into the Titan weapon. And Mòrag-“

“Yes, I heard,” Amalthus waved his hand, as if to dismiss his apology, before setting his eyes on Mòrag. “The Special Inquisitor’s legendary resilience proves true. For you to survive while my Blade did not… it is most… fortunate. Alrest appears to be in your debt.”

The words hung in the air, sharp-edged despite its pleasant delivery. Mòrag's spine straightened imperceptibly, but she said nothing.

“But the cost of survival is steep,” he continued, his gaze flickering almost imperceptibly to Brighid. “The Architect often demands sacrifice. One has to wonder whether destiny should have been allowed to take its course.”

The implication settled over the chamber like frost. Rex shifted uneasily, confusion flickering across his young face - the words sounded like condolences, but something beneath them felt wrong. Nia's ears flattened against her head, her expression darkening. Even Tora went still, his usual fidgeting stalled by the weight of the air.

Brighid's flames flickered dangerously, but Mòrag's hand moved fractionally - a subtle gesture that only her Blade would recognize. Not here. Not now.

Mòrag inclined her head with perfect formality, her voice carrying no trace of the tension coiling in her chest. "I did only what was necessary to prevent greater tragedy, Your Eminence. If the Architect saw fit to preserve my life, then I must trust there remains work for me to do."

The deflection was masterful - acknowledging his implication while refusing to engage with it, wrapping her survival in divine purpose rather than personal fortune. But Amalthus's eyes narrowed fractionally, as if disappointed she hadn't taken the bait.

"Indeed. Work remains for us all." He shifted his attention to the group as a whole, though his next words carried weight clearly directed at Mòrag. "Tell me, what of Uraya? Does Queen Raqura seek retribution against the Ardainian Empire, or has diplomacy somehow prevailed?"

"Emperor Niall and Queen Raqura have both committed to peace," Mòrag replied, her tone even. "They stand united in their desire to prevent further bloodshed."

“Peace,” Amalthus echoed, as though testing the word. “A fragile veil we often don when exhaustion outweighs anger. But how long before one side remembers its grievances? How long before Uraya recalls that Ardainian ambition awakened that weapon? Or before Mor Ardain decides that Urayan prosperity is simply too tempting a prize?"

Mòrag's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but her voice remained steady. "His Majesty has full confidence in the agreements reached. As do I."

"Of course you do." The Praetor's smile was benevolent, patronizing. "Youthful optimism is so... refreshing."

The dismissal was complete - reducing her diplomatic achievement to naiveté, her judgment to childish hope. Mòrag felt Brighid's presence at her back like a steadying flame, but even that comfort couldn't entirely quell the cold fury building beneath her composed exterior.

Amalthus leaned back in his throne, fingers steepling as though in contemplation. "Still, perhaps your optimism is not entirely misplaced. If this fragile peace is to endure, if it is to become something more than a temporary exhaustion of hostilities, then stronger foundations must be laid." His pale eyes swept across the assembled group. "All nations must commit themselves to a unified purpose - something greater than their individual grievances and ambitions."

Rex straightened slightly, sensing where this was leading. "You mean getting everyone to work together?"

"Precisely." The Praetor's tone took on the cadence of prophecy, smooth and absolute. "The Aegis's mission to reach Elysium cannot be undertaken in isolation. It must become the shared goal of all of Alrest, blessed and supported by every crown. Only when the nations stand united behind a common purpose will your peace have the strength to weather future storms." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Each kingdom must pledge itself to the Aegis's cause, must recognize that their conflicts pale before the greater design."

His gaze sharpened with intent. "And so you must go north, to Tantal. Secure King Eulogimenos's blessing and bring his kingdom into this alliance with Mor Ardain and Uraya."

The name dropped like a stone into still water. Mòrag's eyes narrowed fractionally, her tactical mind already cataloging implications. Tantal - the frozen kingdom wreathed in perpetual storm, isolated from the world for decades, ruled by a monarch notorious for his paranoia and hostility to outsiders.

"Tantal?" Rex's confusion was genuine. "Isn't that the kingdom in the clouds? The one nobody can reach?"

"Their line traces back to Addam himself," Amalthus replied, his voice carrying the weight of history. "The first Driver of the Aegis, the hero who saved the world five hundred years ago. If you would understand the true power you wield, if you would claim the Aegis's rightful place in this world, you must seek King Eulogimenos's wisdom and blessing." His smile sharpened. "I will send word ahead of your arrival, of course. The King will be... expecting you."

Mòrag's mind raced. Sending them to Tantal made no diplomatic sense - the kingdom had rejected all overtures for decades, had sealed its borders and turned inward under Eulogimenos's increasingly erratic rule. But before she could formulate a careful objection, Amalthus turned his attention to the back of their group.

"Zeke." The name carried the weight of command wrapped in civility. "You will accompany them as Indol's official envoy. Your... unique perspective on Tantalese matters will prove invaluable."

Zeke's visible eye widened, his back entirely rigid, but he recovered quickly and bowed with theatrical flourish that didn't quite mask the tension in his frame. "Of course, Your Eminence. Always happy to serve the greater good."

The bravado in his voice was too bright, too forced. Pandoria shifted closer to him, her usual playfulness replaced by something more protective.

"Excellent." Amalthus’s smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Tantal will be much easier to reach with your Blade’s ability to call the Titan to the surface. And King Eulogimenos will be more receptive with his own son returned to him, I’m sure."

The words carried edges beneath their surface - implications of old wounds, of obligations Zeke had spent years trying to escape. His visible eye tightened, but he held his tongue.

Rex watched as Mòrag's eyes snapped between Zeke and the Praetor, her diplomatic training warring with obvious suspicion. When she spoke, her tone remained impeccably formal. "You would send us into a kingdom wreathed in storm, ruled by a man notorious for his isolation? Surely there are reasons beyond diplomacy."

Amalthus's lips curved into a thin, humorless smile. "You live up to your title, Special Inquisitor. Be assured, my purposes are for the good of all. Perhaps in Tantal you will come to... appreciate them."

Alarm bells screamed in her mind. This was wrong - every instinct honed by years of political maneuvering told her this was a trap wrapped in diplomatic necessity. But she could not say more. She could not voice accusations without evidence. Her station as Special Inquisitor, as the Emperor’s representative, demanded she maintain protocol. To accuse the Praetor of manipulation in his own chambers would be to invite disaster.

Rex noticed her hands clenched at her sides, the frustration warring with duty in her eyes. The Praetor's veiled threats hung in the air, and yet, Morag had backed down and gone silent. Rex suddenly heard Brighid's words echo in his mind: When the time comes, when she cannot speak, lend your voice. That is how you help.

"We appreciate your guidance, Your Eminence."

Every head turned toward Rex. The boy had stepped forward, his shoulders squared, his voice carrying a steadiness that hadn't been there weeks ago. Not challenging, not deferential, but measured - a tone he'd learned from watching Mòrag and was now putting it to use.

"Our mission to reach Elysium is too important to let anything interfere with it." Rex met the Praetor's gaze directly, unflinching despite the weight of that pale stare. "We'll go to Tantal. We'll speak with King Eulogimenos. And we'll secure his support - not because it serves any one kingdom or any one man, but because it serves all of Alrest."

The implication was subtle but unmistakable: We see what you're doing. We know this isn't purely about unity. But we'll play along for the greater good, not for your schemes.

Brighid's expression flickered with something that might have been pride. Her gaze met Rex's for the briefest moment - a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He had remembered.

Mòrag felt something shift in her chest. The boy who had seemed so reckless in Torigoth, who had stumbled through diplomatic protocol with wide-eyed confusion, had just navigated a verbal minefield with grace. He hadn't defended her directly - couldn't, without making things worse - but he had risen to meet the Praetor's manipulation with his own subtle defiance.

She inclined her head toward him fractionally, a gesture of respect between equals.

Amalthus's eyes narrowed, reassessing the young Driver with newfound interest. Perhaps recognizing that the boy had developed teeth beneath his earnest exterior. "Indeed. How... admirable. I'm certain King Eulogimenos will find your perspectives quite enlightening."

"Then we shouldn't keep him waiting." Rex's tone remained respectful but firm. "The sooner we secure Tantal's support, the sooner we can continue toward Elysium."

The Praetor waved a hand in dismissal, though his smile had taken on a calculating edge. "Go then, with my blessing. May the Architect guide your path through Tantal's storms."

As they filed out of the chamber, Mòrag caught Brighid's gaze. Her Blade's expression was carefully neutral, but her flames danced with fierce satisfaction. And when Mòrag glanced back at Rex, she found him watching her with quiet determination - not seeking approval, but offering solidarity.

The boy was learning. And perhaps, in learning, he was becoming exactly what they needed him to be.

As they left the chamber, the companions walked in heavy silence, each lost in their own thoughts about what had just transpired. The weight of the Praetor's words hung over them like a shroud, and even the open air of the courtyard did little to dispel the oppressive atmosphere.

Rex kept glancing back toward the high chamber, his jaw working as though chewing over bitter words. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Did anyone else notice he didn't even..." Rex's voice cracked slightly. "Fan la Norne died protecting us, and he barely blinked. He wasn't even surprised that she never returned to her Core Crystal.”

“Because he knew she wouldn’t…” Mythra muttered to herself.

Nia's ears flattened against her head. "The man's got all the warmth of a bloody ice cube. 'The cost of survival is steep' – what kind of twisted logic is that? Sounds like he's glad people died."

Zeke had been unusually quiet, his normal theatrical flair nowhere to be found. When he finally spoke, his voice was subdued. "Look, I've served under the Praetor for years. He's always been... calculating. But that, in there..." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling. "Something felt different.”

Mythra’s jaw tightened, her expression troubled. "When he was talking about destiny…”

“He was talking about me.” Mòrag cast a glance over her shoulder, ensuring the Indoline guards were out of earshot. “He expected me to be dead.”

Tora looked at the Ardainian Driver nervously. "Tora not understand politics, but even Tora notice Praetor not seem happy to see friend safe."

"But why?" Rex's hands clenched into fists. "What's he playing at? What does he gain from-" He stopped, the implication hitting him. "He wanted Mor Ardain and Uraya to go to war...”

Mòrag nodded. “My death would have eliminated any chance at diplomacy.”

“Then why send us to stop it?"

“To keep up appearances.” Mythra turned to Rex as she nearly spat out the words. “Indol can’t just go starting a war… but it sure as Hell can play both sides.”

Mòrag and Brighid exchanged a knowing glance. They had been chess pieces, along with Roderich, just as Mòrag had suspected. But her near sacrifice had upended the board.

“I still don’t get it.” Rex's hands clenched into fists. "What does he gain from starting a war? That’s the kind of chaos Torna would want, isn’t it? So, is this really all him? What if Malos is the one pushing for-"

"Rex." Mythra's voice cut through sharply as she turned to face him fully. "Drivers influence their Blades. Not the other way around."

The words hung heavy in the air, weighted with meaning that went beyond the surface statement.

“I wasn’t sure at first, if Malos and I would be affected by our Drivers like a typical Blade, but after hearing Amalthus just now…”

Rex nodded. “He sounded like Malos.”

“He did.” She paused, something painful crossing her features. "I… I have a feeling the only reason I’m on your side is because Addam resonated with me and not him. It makes me wonder about what Malos is-"

"Hold on." Zeke's voice was quiet - too quiet. Dangerously so. "Back up. What are you saying right now?”

Rex blinked, suddenly realizing. "Oh. You didn't – he never told you?"

Zeke's hands shot up, his whole body rigid with barely-contained fury. "Didn’t tell me what, exactly?"

"Amalthus is Malos's Driver." Mythra stated it flatly, without preamble.

The silence that crashed down was absolute.

Zeke stared at her. Then at Rex. Then at Nia and Tora, whose uncomfortable expressions confirmed everything. His face went through several colors before settling on something between white and red.

"You're telling me-" His voice cracked. Started again. "You're telling me that the Praetor - the man I've served for years - is bonded to the Aegis that sank old Torna? The one who's been trying to destroy the entire world?"

"Zeke-" Rex started.

"And he never said a damn thing?" Zeke was pacing now, his movements sharp and agitated. "Bloody Hell… how long have I been his useful idiot? All those missions, all those times he looked me in the eye and praised my loyalty. Every time he sent me out as his personal envoy, talking about duty and service and the greater good-" He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "What a joke. What a complete and utter joke.”

Mòrag watched him carefully, her expression controlled. His shock appeared genuine, but something nagged at her tactical instincts. How has he served as the Praetor's personal envoy for years and not discovered this? The question lodged itself in her mind, sharp and insistent.

Caution stayed her tongue. She would not reveal her suspicion until she had evidence. If he was genuine, she could not risk alienating an ally with unfounded judgement. And if his ignorance was merely performance, she needed to know just how deep the Praetor’s control ran before striking.

She stepped forward, casting Zeke a sidelong glance before turning her attention to the others. Her eyes sharpened as she took in Rex's uncomfortable shuffle, Mythra's matter-of-fact delivery, the way Nia and Tora both looked guilty but unsurprised. They'd known. All of them.

"When did you learn this?" The question came out measured, diplomatic. Only the slight edge beneath suggested anything more.

Rex rubbed the back of his neck. "When we were last here. The Praetor… he asked to speak with Pyra and Mythra privately, remember?"

"I see. I was preoccupied with Senator Roderich’s conspiracy during our last visit – there was little time for conversation." Mòrag's gaze flicked to Brighid briefly, then back. "This revelation changes everything.”

Her mind was already working through the ramifications with cold efficiency. Every interaction with Amalthus took on new dimensions. He wielded an Aegis in secret - one who was bent on their destruction. The same Aegis who was working as member of Torna… the terrorist group who had awakened Aeshma. Morag already suspected the Praetor and Roderich had worked together to stoke the fire between Uraya and Mor Ardain, but is this what led to Torna’s involvement?

The Praetor’s hands were clearly stained with Ardainian blood as he used his authority to manipulate nations toward war. And if Malos’s will was truly a reflection of his…

The implication settled like ice in her chest.

"He sends us now to Tantal.” Mòrag's eyes narrowed. "Tantal's isolation makes it the perfect place to send troublesome pawns. Far from allies, from resources..."

"From witnesses," Brighid added softly, her flames flickering with suppressed anger.

The silence that fell over them was heavy. Zeke looked up, meeting Morag’s steeled gaze. The severity in her amber eyes made him quickly turn away.

“So, he’s getting us out of his way." Rex's hands were still clenched. "Or maybe he wants to use Tantal to start a war?"

“That very possible,” Poppi chimed in.

Rex sighed, his expression conflicted. “Why set the world on fire? That doesn’t serve anyone.”

"For control." Mòrag's answer was immediate. "Warring nations are easier to manipulate than peaceful ones. And a man who holds the strings while appearing to stand above the conflict..." She shook her head. "The Praetor of Indol, bonded to an Aegis, orchestrating chaos while maintaining his image as a spiritual leader. It's brilliant, in a way."

"That’s so cold, it’s almost impressive," Zeke spat.

"Indeed," Mòrag agreed quietly. "And we find ourselves, once again, in his crosshairs."

Rex looked around at each of them, his expression hardening with resolve. "So, then we go. But not for him. We find out what he's really planning, and we make sure he doesn't get it."

"We must be strategic," Mòrag cautioned, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "He already suspects we doubt him - our exchange in his chambers made that clear. But there's a difference between suspicion and certainty. We give him no further cause to move openly against us. We play the part of obedient servants while gathering intelligence." She paused, her jaw tightening. "The Emperor will maintain peace in our absence, but we must not be blind to what is plotted in the shadows."

Brighid's flames brightened slightly. "And we prepare for the possibility that we're being sent to Tantal not as diplomats, but as sacrifices."

With those harrowing thoughts in all their minds, the group began to disperse, moving toward the harbor to gather supplies and prepare for their journey north. Nia was already complaining about the cold, Tora chattering nervously about winterizing Poppi's systems, Zeke stalking ahead with Pandoria trying to draw him into conversation.

"Rex."

Mòrag's voice stopped him before he'd taken more than a few steps. He turned back to find her standing with Brighid, something unusual in her expression - not the diplomatic mask she wore in public, but something more genuine.

He approached cautiously, uncertain what she wanted.

"I would be remiss if I focused solely on my suspicions of the Praetor and did not acknowledge your accomplishments in those chambers. You handled that diplomacy exceptionally well," Mòrag said quietly, her voice carrying unmistakable respect. "You navigated a precarious situation with wisdom beyond your years."

Rex blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct praise. "I just... I remembered what Brighid told me. About speaking up when others can't."

Brighid's flames danced with quiet pride, her gaze meeting Rex's with approval. "You remembered well."

"It was nothing, really," Rex continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "Standing up for others… that's what leaders do, right?"

"Indeed it is." Mòrag's voice warmed slightly.

Rex's embarrassment gave way to something more serious as he looked between them. "I couldn't just stand there and let him talk to you like that. It made my skin crawl."

"He is a dangerous man," Mòrag agreed. "Made more dangerous by the power he wields and the mask of piety he hides behind. But you showed him today that we're not the naive tools he believes us to be." She paused, meeting his gaze directly. "Continue to trust your instincts, Rex. They've served you well thus far."

Rex's smile was slight, teasing. "Didn't think I had it in me, did you?"

"On the contrary. I have always known you did. I am simply pleased to see you're learning to recognize it yourself."

The smile faded, his expression growing more thoughtful. He hesitated, then seemed to gather his courage. "Mòrag… can I ask you something?"

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Go ahead."

"Does it ever get to you?" The words came out in a rush, as though he was afraid he'd lose his nerve. "Having to always be the diplomat? Always watching what you say, never being able to just... speak freely when someone like the Praetor is being awful to you?"

The question caught Mòrag off-guard. For a moment, her stoic mask faltered, and something more real flickered across her features - weariness, perhaps, or the accumulated weight of years spent measuring every word.

"Yes," she admitted quietly. "It can be exhausting. There are times when I want nothing more than to speak plainly, to respond to provocations with the honesty they deserve. But that luxury is not afforded to those in my position."

"That doesn't seem fair." A hint of frustration crept into his voice.

"Fairness has little to do with it." Mòrag's tone was gentle but firm. "Diplomacy is not about fairness – it is about effectiveness. And sometimes, the most effective strategy is knowing when not to speak."

Rex frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Praetor wanted me to react," Mòrag explained. "Every barb, every implication that I should have died instead of Fan la Norne - he was testing me, trying to provoke an emotional response he could exploit. By maintaining my composure, I retained control of the situation." She paused, her gaze steady on Rex. "You can often assert more power through silence than through speech. It denies your opponent the leverage they seek."

Rex absorbed her words, his brow furrowed in concentration. "So it's like... a different kind of strength? Being silent makes them show their hand?”

"Precisely." Mòrag's expression softened with approval. "Though I won't pretend it does not take a toll.” She glanced at Brighid, something warm passing between them. " Which is why it helps to have people around you who understand.”

Rex caught the look they shared, and something clicked into place. He'd watched them together for weeks now - the way Brighid stayed close during difficult moments, the quiet exchanges that seemed to happen without words. And now, seeing them standing together after the tense audience with the Praetor...

“That's why the two of you work so well together,” Rex said slowly, working through the realization. "She creates a space where you don't have to be the Special Inquisitor all the time. Where you can stop measuring every word and just... be."

Mòrag went very still, clearly not expecting him to articulate it so directly. Brighid's hand found her arm, a steadying presence.

"That's... an astute observation," Mòrag said carefully.

"And a wise one, at that,” Brighid added, her voice quiet. " I cannot speak for her when protocol demands her silence. The restrictions that bind her bind me as well, but I can offer her a place without the mask. Without the constant calculation."

Rex thought about what he'd witnessed on the ship – the unguarded expressions he'd caught when they thought no one was watching. It wasn't just about having a powerful Blade. It was about having someone who saw past all the titles and expectations.

"I think I get it," Rex said. "Everyone else sees the Flamebringer or Ardainian royalty. But Brighid sees... just you. And that matters. Especially when you have to be so many things for so many people."

Something shifted in Mòrag's expression - a flicker of vulnerability quickly controlled, but not before Rex caught it. "Yes,” she said quietly. “When duty demands you fragment yourself into roles and responsibilities, it helps to have someone who remembers the whole."

Brighid's flames flickered gently as she squeezed Mòrag's arm gently. "And someone who stands beside you when silence is required, so you do not bear that burden alone."

Understanding settled over Rex like a weight. He thought of Pyra, of how she made him feel like being Rex mattered even when he was terrified of being the Aegis's Driver. Of how she saw him, not what everyone needed from him. Not the role, but the person beneath it.

Rex's expression grew more serious, his hands clenching briefly at his sides. “Then when the two of you need it, you’ve got me, too. I can stand with you."

Brighid's flames danced brighter, warmth flooding her expression as she leaned into her Driver slightly.

Mòrag glanced at her Blade, sharing a gentle smile before turning back to Rex. Her expression had softened in a way he'd rarely seen. The diplomatic mask had nearly fallen away, leaving genuine emotion shining through the cracks.

"Your support means more than you know." Her voice was quieter than usual, carrying an openness that made the words feel weighted. "Thank you."

The sincerity of it struck him silent. He'd seen Mòrag composed, seen her tactical and commanding, even seen her angry. But this - this raw gratitude, this moment of being truly seen - was different. He looked at her and saw someone who'd been carrying impossible weight for so long she'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone offer to share it.

Something in his chest seized, urgent and insistent. The words were right there, pressing against the back of his throat. I need to thank you, too. For everything you've done for me.

"Mòrag, I-"

"Oi!" Nia's voice shattered the moment like glass, echoing from somewhere down the harbor with her characteristic impatience. "Are you lot coming or what? We don't have all day!"

Rex's mouth closed, the words dying unspoken. He glanced toward the sound, frustration flickering across his features, then back at Mòrag and Brighid. There was so much more he wanted to say - gratitude that felt too immense to fit into simple words, recognition of something he was only beginning to understand… of what it meant to stand beside someone like her.

But Nia's shout had broken the spell and the moment was gone.

"Coming!" he called back, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance. He looked at Mòrag again, offering a quick smile that didn't quite hide his disappointment. "We should go."

Mòrag held his gaze for just a beat longer, something in her expression suggesting she'd felt the weight of what he'd been about to say. Then she inclined her head, and he watched as the Special Inquisitor's composure settled back over her like armor. "Indeed."

As they turned toward the harbor where the others waited, Rex walked beside them, acutely aware of the the words he'd wanted to say still churning in his chest, demanding to be spoken. Later, he told himself. He'd find the words later, when there was time. When he could do justice to what she deserved to hear.

Brighid caught his eye as they walked, and something in her expression made his resolve strengthen. A knowing warmth, a gentle encouragement - I understand. You'll have your chance.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, accepting the unspoken promise.

Chapter Text

The Ardanian transport ship cut smoothly through the Cloud Sea, its engines a low hum beneath the sound of wind. Evening had settled across the decks; the scent of the galley's meal drifted faintly through the corridors, carried by laughter and conversation from the mess hall.

Brighid lingered at the doorway, scanning the table where most of their companions had gathered - Rex gesturing animatedly as Nia rolled her eyes, Tora and Poppi locked in a debate over seasoning ratios, Zeke offering theatrical commentary that rang just slightly hollow, his usual bravado not quite masking the tension in his shoulders.

One seat remained empty.

Mòrag's.

Rex caught Brighid's gaze, his eyes drifting meaningfully toward the vacant chair with unspoken concern. She gave him a subtle nod - I'll check on her - before turning down the corridor.

She didn't need to wonder where Mòrag had gone. The Praetor's thinly veiled disappointment at her survival still hung heavy between them, his words echoing with implications that had set everyone on edge. Mòrag had maintained her composure through the preparations - charting their course to Tantal, organizing supplies, briefing the crew – and she'd asked Brighid to check on their companions, to make certain everyone had settled in properly after the tense departure from Indol. It was a reasonable request from a commanding officer concerned for her team, but her prolonged absence told a different story.

Brighid chastised herself for not recognizing what Mòrag was doing sooner. She was creating distance – isolating herself.

Her mask would hold only as long as duty demanded witnesses. And now, with her thoughts unchecked, the weight of suspicion would be crushing her.

Brighid's steps quickened as she made her way through the ship's corridors toward the separate quarters reserved for Ardainian officers. The door to their cabin stood slightly ajar - not carelessly left open, but cracked as though Mòrag had forgotten to lock it, too consumed by whatever had pulled her under.

Inside, the cabin had been transformed. Reports, dossiers, and maps blanketed the desk and climbed the back wall. Lines of ink traced connections between Indoline shipping manifests, Tantalese supply routes, and troop records from Temperantia. Everything bore Mòrag's meticulous handwriting - order imposed upon chaos, control wrested from conspiracy through sheer force of analysis.

At the center sat Mòrag herself, still in full uniform, the lamplight catching on the sharp bronze trim of her armor. Her gloved hand moved steadily across a page, cross-referencing the Praetor's statements with intelligence she'd gathered before, the other turning pages with mechanical precision. But among the scattered reports lay something else - mission logs, Indoline records, a list of assignments carried out by Zeke over the years. Documents she must have quickly procured before they left Indol. Lines of ink traced connections between his movements and events that followed across Alrest.

The familiar sight tugged at Brighid's chest: the Empire's most disciplined mind, alone again in her endless vigilance. But this time, the obsession carried a sharper edge.

This wasn't just about uncovering conspiracy - it was personal. The Praetor had likely set events in Temperantia in motion and had all but admitted he'd wanted her dead. And Zeke, the man who had served him faithfully for years, was breaking bread with their company down the hall.

This was spiraling dangerously.

"Mòrag," she said softly.

The pen stilled. "One moment." Another line added, one more cross-reference checked before she looked up. "My apologies. I didn't hear you come in."

"I gathered." Brighid's gaze swept the room, fully taking in the scattered evidence of hours of work. "You've transformed our quarters into the Ardainian Intelligence Ministry."

"Only temporarily," Mòrag said, her tone carrying that particular calm that meant she'd already prepared her defense. "I'm close to understanding the full picture. Roderich couldn't have orchestrated Temperantia alone - not with Torna's involvement. The Praetor's fingerprints are everywhere." She tapped one report. "The Indoline shipments, the timing, the coordination. I have proof they worked together to engineer that battle."

Brighid moved closer, navigating carefully around the scattered papers. The analysis was meticulous - shipping manifests showing Indoline vessels near Temperantia before the attack, communications between Roderich and unknown parties, financial records suggesting covert payments.

"You've built a comprehensive case," Brighid observed quietly.

"Against Roderich, yes. The evidence is unquestionable." Mòrag's voice remained clipped, controlled. "But the Praetor's involvement is harder to prove directly and evidence of his motive is circumstantial, at best. I know he sought to push Mor Ardain and Uraya into war, to position himself as mediator while tightening his grip on both. Or perhaps he planned to let them destroy each other and claim dominion over what remained." Her jaw tightened. “I cannot determine how deep the treachery goes."

Brighid watched her carefully. "You mean, if he is to blame for Torna's involvement? You think he commanded Malos to have Jin awaken Aeshma?"

"Not commanded." Mòrag shook her head, still staring at the reports. "Mythra said a Driver's will imprints on their Blade. If the Praetor wanted war, if his influence shaped Malos's goals..." She finally looked up, meeting Brighid's eyes. "Then Malos would want it, too, whether he realized he was being shaped or not."

A chill ran through Brighid despite her flames. "You believe Amalthus could influence an Aegis so completely?"

"Is that not why you serve the Empire so faithfully?"

The question struck like a physical blow. Brighid straightened, her expression shifting from understanding to something more guarded. "What are you saying?"

"You have been an Imperial Blade for centuries - passed between Emperors who dedicated their lives to Mor Ardain." Mòrag's voice was quiet, but her gaze was unflinching. "And though I do not sit on the throne, I am no different in my servitude. Tell me, Brighid-" She paused, choosing her words with visible care. "Why would you be reborn again and again with such instinctual loyalty to the Empire, if not because your Drivers shaped you that way?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy with implications neither had voiced before.

Brighid's flames flickered, betraying the turmoil beneath her composed exterior. When she spoke, her voice was softer, almost uncertain. "I... suppose it's possible." She looked away, grappling with the uncomfortable truth. "I've never questioned it. My loyalty has always felt like simply who I am."

"As Malos's destructive nature likely feels to him," Mòrag said quietly. "Not manipulation. Just... truth."

Brighid absorbed that, her arms still crossed as if holding herself together. "Then Torna aligned itself with Roderich to achieve what Amalthus ultimately wanted? War? Destruction?"

"All I have is speculation built on circumstantial evidence." Mòrag's voice carried weeks of accumulated exhaustion as she gestured at the scattered papers. "I have proof of Roderich conspiring with Torna. I have mounting evidence of the Praetor's coordination with Roderich. But I cannot prove how far his reach extends." Her hands tightened into fists. "And I cannot anticipate how he will alter his plans now that I've-"

"Now that you survived," Brighid finished, understanding flooding her features. She moved closer, letting go of the discomfort of their earlier exchange as an unsettling threat against her Driver settled in. "You survived Temperantia and went directly to His Majesty."

"We brokered peace without Indol." Mòrag's voice steadied as the pattern became clear, anger replacing some of the exhaustion. "We cut him out entirely. Whatever leverage he'd planned to gain from mediating that conflict - from positioning himself as the only neutral party both sides would trust - I took it from him." Her jaw tightened, knuckles white against the desk. "That is why he was disappointed I survived. Not just because I am a loose end who knows too much, but because I disrupted his entire strategy."

Brighid followed her gaze to the mission logs. "And you think Zeke-"

"I need to know what role he plays." Mòrag's hand hovered over the papers. "He's been the Praetor's envoy for years. Always present at the edges of conflict. He could have been facilitating communications, arranging meetings, setting pieces in motion." She looked up. "And now the Praetor is sending him with us to Tantal - to the kingdom he abandoned, to a father who has no reason to welcome any of us. What's waiting for us there? What has he been planning?"

"Those are reasonable questions," Brighid said gently. "But what are you planning to do with all of this tonight?"

“The case must be stronger.” Mòrag gestured to the organized stacks. "I need to continue finding evidence against Roderich, the Praetor, Zeke-"

"Mòrag." Brighid knelt beside her chair, bringing herself to eye level. "His Majesty reassigned you. The new duty of the Special Inquisitor is to serve and protect the Aegis and her Driver on their journey to Elysium."

"These conspiracies threaten them-"

"They threaten Mor Ardain. And Uraya. And every nation the Praetor seeks to control." Brighid's voice remained gentle but firm. "You cannot investigate all of it. You cannot solve every threat. The Emperor and Aegaeon will protect the Empire. You must trust them to do so."

Mòrag's hands tightened on the edge of the desk. "You're telling me to turn a blind eye to treachery?"

"No." Brighid's hand settled on Mòrag's shoulder. "I'm telling you that you cannot serve two masters without tearing yourself apart. How can you protect Rex from what lies ahead if you are constantly looking back? If you are trying to investigate conspiracies half a world away while walking into danger here?"

The words struck with uncomfortable accuracy. Mòrag stared at the evidence scattered across every surface - hours of work, layers of analysis, proof of the conspiracy she'd uncovered. "The intelligence on Roderich and the Praetor..."

"Send it back to Mor Ardain," Brighid said firmly. "Gormott is the closest Titan to where we are headed. Call for one of our couriers in Torigoth to meet us before we make landfall. Let the Ministry pursue the case through proper channels. Let your brother and Aegaeon handle the Empire's threats."

Mòrag's gaze moved to Zeke's mission logs, her jaw tightening.

"But those," Brighid continued, following her line of sight, "are different."

Mòrag looked up sharply.

"Zeke's loyalties, his knowledge, his plans - those directly affect your mission to protect the Aegis." Brighid's voice softened slightly. "We need to understand what role he played. What he knows. What might be waiting in Tantal."

"Then you agree we should investigate him."

"Yes, but not like this." Brighid gestured at the cabin, the isolation, the obsessive cross-referencing. "You have days before we reach Tantal. Time to observe him. To ask questions. To test his reactions." She paused meaningfully. "And you do not have to do it alone. I will help you."

Some of the tension bled from Mòrag's shoulders. "You will?"

"Of course – don’t I always?" Brighid's hand squeezed gently. "It is what we do best, after all. We will watch him together. Listen to what he says and doesn't say. See how he responds when pressed." Her voice warmed with quiet determination. "But we do it with clear heads. Not buried in here, chasing shadows."

Mòrag looked at the scattered papers, then back to Brighid. The offer settled something in her chest - the knowledge that Brighid understood the necessity without dismissing the danger.

"You're right." The admission came more easily this time. "I have been trying to control everything from this cabin when I should be..." She gestured vaguely toward the door.

"Present with the people you are trying to protect," Brighid finished. "The others have been asking for you. They're concerned."

"I'll make an appearance." Mòrag began organizing the Roderich intelligence, her movements practiced and efficient. "But first, I should secure this for transmission."

Brighid stood and watched as Mòrag sorted the papers with the same meticulous care she'd used to compile it. The Roderich files went into a secure case while Zeke's mission logs remained on the desk - not hidden, not destroyed, but set aside with purpose. When Mòrag’s hand lingered on the papers, Brighid stepped forward.

"Tomorrow." She offered Mòrag her hand. "Tonight, you step away to clear your head. You cannot protect the group if you are not part of it."

Mòrag hesitated, her hand hovering over the papers a moment longer. Then she took Brighid's hand and stood, allowing herself to be pulled gently away from the desk. "Tomorrow," she agreed quietly.

Brighid's thumb traced across Mòrag's knuckles, a soothing gesture. "We have time. Days aboard this ship before we reach our destination. We will use them wisely."

"To observe. To question." Mòrag's voice steadied, finding purpose in the plan. "To understand what we are walking into."

"Together," Brighid emphasized. She reached up, brushing a strand of ebony hair back from Mòrag's face with careful tenderness. "You do not carry this burden alone."

Mòrag's eyes closed briefly at the touch, some deeper tension finally releasing. When she opened them again, they held less of a brittle edge, less of the isolated vigilance that had kept her locked in their cabin for hours. "Thank you," she said softly. "For pulling me back."

"Always." Brighid's hand lingered against Mòrag's cheek before sliding down to rest at her shoulder. "Now come. Let the others see you are still with us. Let yourself be present for what is left of the evening."

As they moved toward the door, Brighid kept her hand at the small of Mòrag's back - a steady, grounding presence. Mòrag cast one last glance at the desk. Zeke's mission logs sat in a neat stack, waiting. Questions without answers yet. Suspicions that needed testing.

But tomorrow would come soon enough. Tonight, she would trust Brighid's wisdom and let the rest wait.

The din of conversation greeted them as they entered the mess hall - the easy, chaotic rhythm of a crew that had survived too much together to stand on ceremony. Zeke looked up first, predictably grinning.

"Well, if it isn't the illustrious Flamebringer! We thought your duty had devoured you whole."

"I've survived worse than paperwork," Mòrag replied, her tone perfectly neutral but with an edge sharp enough to notice.

The comment landed with a weight that made Zeke's grin falter. He recovered quickly, launching into some story about his travels that captured Tora’s attention. Mòrag turned away and took a seat beside Rex, but her attention didn't fully leave Zeke. She tracked his gestures, his tone, the way he interacted with the others - still analyzing, still watching.

Rex was saying something about a salvaging job, but Mòrag only half-heard it, her focus divided.

Then Brighid's hand settled on her thigh beneath the table - gentle, grounding. Mòrag's gaze flickered to her Blade, finding those hidden eyes watching her with quiet understanding. Brighid's other hand gestured subtly toward the rest of the table, a slight tilt of her head. I'll watch him. You be present with them.

The message was clear and Mòrag felt something in her chest ease. She nodded fractionally, allowing herself to truly shift her attention.

"-and I swore the current would carry me back to Gramps," Rex was saying earnestly.

"Rex, you can't just assume that," Nia interjected, exasperated. "That's not salvaging strategy, that's luck."

"But it did! Eventually!"

"Eventually isn't a plan, it's a prayer."

Tora jumped in with his own embellishments that couldn't possibly be true, while Poppi provided gentle fact-checks that only made the tale more ridiculous. "Masterpon, did not know Friend Rex during incident. Poppi not even born yet."

"Details, details!"

Mòrag found herself actually listening now, letting the noise fill the space around her. It was strange, just sitting among them without command or expectation, without analyzing every word for threat or deception. Simply existing in their company.

She caught herself smiling once at one of Rex's more ridiculous comments - something about thinking he could breathe in the Cloud Sea if he held his breath long enough first. Nia's exasperated "That's not how any of this works!" only made it more obtuse.

When she glanced at Brighid again, her Blade was indeed watching Zeke with subtle attention - fulfilling the promise she'd made without words. Brighid's hand squeezed Mòrag's thigh gently, approval warming the gesture.

You're here. You're present. Well done.

Mòrag's hand covered Brighid's beneath the table, returning the pressure. For this moment, at least, she could let herself be part of something that served no greater purpose than companionship.