As their fingers touched, time slowed to a crawl.

The world narrowed to only Priscilla and Illnyea, to Priscilla's desperate grip.

The cursed crossbow bolt was nothing compared to the pain that came from just brushing her bare fingers against Illnyea's.

It was excruciating, like Priscilla had been foolish enough to grab onto a live wire during a thunderstorm, making her arm jerk involuntarily as every nerve within it seized. The yellow scarring on Illnyea's arm began to stretch down her hand, moving forward in jagged jumps like it was a hunting dog on course for Priscilla.

Trying to help someone through a magical overload was an easy way to die.

Some might even say a stupid way to die, but those people were heartless, so their opinions didn't really matter.

The way it had been described in the books was that the magic within the person suffering the overload would seek to relieve the pressure currently on their system, often trying to leap to anyone who makes skin contact. But unless the person attempting to help had both tremendous magical skill to control the sudden magic and could continuously expel it with a spell, trying to help would likely start a chain overload reaction and make the resulting explosion even more powerful.

Priscilla just gripped tighter, refusing to let go even as her teeth ached from the magic that was flooding her body, searching for magical skill it would never find.

It may be fruitless, but trying to provide the magic with an alternative path to deviate towards instead of frying Illnyea's brain was the only plan Priscilla had – it was possible she and the quartz might be able to siphon enough that it brought Illnyea back from the edge.

It might let Illnyea live long enough for one of the boys to figure this problem out, and Priscilla couldn't let a small fear of dying stop her from chasing that chance with the desperation a drowning man chased the surface.

If Illnyea died…

Then…

Then all of this struggling against fate would have been for nothing because what else was there for Priscilla to live for if her meddling killed Illnyea?

She wouldn't deserve to live, not when she had ruined everything.

Illnyea was breathing too fast in a way that terrified Priscilla, the sound reverberating in her ears like a dissonant chord as Illnyea couldn't even catch her breath enough to scream.

Or maybe that was the ringing in Priscilla's ears, still smarting from the double shockwaves of magic back to back.

The gems had grown hot between their hands in the space of two breaths as Priscilla tried to curl her body with sharply stinging ribs over Illnyea's body protectively. Beneath them, the ground shifted ominously, as if considering opening up into a sinkhole.

The glowing in Illnyea's eyes intensified as Priscilla blinked, spreading further across her iris and casting dark shadows across her face. The light was blinding, but Priscilla didn't look away, jerking her free hand forward to cup Illnyea's cheek, brushing away her tears with a shaking hand.

The lightning scars reached Illnyea's collarbone before they darted towards Priscilla's fingertips over Illnyea's cheek, millimeters away from reaching the edge Priscilla's nail. The quartz grew hotter and hotter, so hot that Priscilla was afraid they'd shatter within the bag.

Distantly, Priscilla realized she was crying too, the tears sizzling on her cheeks as she whispered over and over, "No, 'nyea, no, no, no."

The lightning streak finally reached both of Priscilla's hands, curling around Priscilla's fingers like a deadly promise ring.

Please god, Priscilla prayed as her vision went staticky, please save her. I'd give you anything.

"Master–"

Everything went white.

…

There was a table in front of her, made of smooth light brown wood. In the center of the table, there was an intricate carving that had been stained a green so dark it was almost black. It was a thin snake with closed eyes and a pair of feathery wings reminiscent of an angel stretching from its back. The wings were dyed in a slightly lighter shade than the scales, with a shimmery quality to the feathers. The snake's maw was open wide, about to close in on its own tail, fangs dripping venom.

There was a tall-backed chair across from her. The chair looked uncomfortable, like it favored form over function, made of stark white leather and the same wood the table was. But instead of the same winged snake motif there was on the table, there were canine creatures running along the back posts, all aimed towards where a stylized sun had been carved into the top back of the chair. There were also sharp thorns curved off the wood backing towards whoever would sit there.

She blinked a few times, at a momentary loss for words as she glanced around the space.

It was unending whiteness for as far as the eye could see, with no shadows darkening the space that weren't cast from the table or her. It gave the impression of being in an endless space, of being just a small speck of dust within a vast and empty world.

What the fuck was going on?

One more blink and someone was sitting in the chair, uncaring of how the thorns stabbed their exposed flesh, sending rivulets of golden blood down their pale skin that began to stain the chair's frame.

Their arms were crossed, one purple painted finger tapping along their bicep while they narrowed their eyes, shapely lips pursing together as if it didn't know what to do with her. Their royal purple toga was artfully layered over their androgynous figure, though their gold laurel was slightly cocked upon their bone-white hair.

"God of cowards?" Priscilla said incredulously, tilting her head at the unexpected table guest.

"Don't call me that!" hissed the figure, slamming their palm onto the table so hard Priscilla was surprised it didn't crack.

"What else was I supposed to call you when you didn't tell me your name?" Priscilla said, the words slipping from her lips before she could think better.

The god let out an angry breath through their teeth, green eyes narrowed into slits, but they didn't refute the words or hit anything else.

"Insolent little brat," the god said through gritted teeth, "I ought to have just left you to die."

Priscilla stilled, any urge to talk back to the god snuffing out in an instant.

Her mouth was dry as she asked, "Is Illnyea going to die?"

The anger didn't leave the god completely, but contemplation took over their face again, studying Priscilla's features as if she was a worm that had suddenly learned how to talk.

"Does your own death not scare you?" the god asked, tapping their finger against the table near the snake's tail.

Priscilla let out a frustrated breath that the god wouldn't answer her question.

"Not when my sister's life is at stake," Priscilla said through gritted teeth, knee starting to bounce as her unhelpful brain supplied horrible possible visions of what was happening to her sister.

The god tilted their head. "And if that wasn't a consideration?"

Though Priscilla wanted to flip the table and demand the god send her back to Illnyea, she stayed seated through pure force of will. She had no idea where she was and what was going on. Despite the numerous injuries that had just been plaguing her, Priscilla's body felt fine and for all Priscilla knew, she was trapped in the god of coward's domain until they were done playing with her.

Answering the god's questions might be Priscilla's only way to save Illnyea.

"It's scary, yeah," Priscilla said, forcing her knee to stop bouncing by pressing down on it.

Priscilla stilled in panic when her bare palm pressed against her pants and she realized that Asha was missing.

But when Priscilla reached frantically for their bond, she could still feel it, though it was faint, like trying to listen to someone speaking with headphones on.

Priscilla forced herself to calm down and continue.

"But it's not the kind of scary that I'll let dictate my life."

"Even though your decisions bring you ever closer to it?" the god asked, leaning forward slightly.

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"Death comes for us all, so what's the use of worrying about its inevitability when all it'll do is give me gray hairs prematurely?" Priscilla said, shrugging one shoulder.

It was odd that a god seemed to be so fixated on death, so before the god could speak again, Priscilla tossed out casually, "You still thinking about how all the gods are destined to die, huh?"

The god stilled.

It didn't even look like they were breathing, though their faintly glowing green eyes were locked on Priscilla's with intensity, like they were trying to rip the thoughts from her brain or maybe trying to melt her with their glare alone.

She raised a single eyebrow, amused despite herself.

They played this waiting game before, and last time the god of cowards ran away. Maybe they'd get so pissy they'd send her back soon.

A muscle worked in their soft jaw before the god of cowards said coolly, "I don't see that has anything to do with our conversation, anomaly."

Priscilla rolled her eyes, giving the god a doubtful look.

"I tooootallyyyyy believe you," Priscilla said slowly. "A powerful god like you could never possibly be afraid of dying."

The god's nails scraped against the wood as they formed a fist, mouth pressed together in a bloodless line as they looked away from her. Their brows were furrowed together, and their eyes were twitching as if they were trying to not blink and only just resisting the urge.

Silence reigned for exactly ten seconds before Priscilla had enough of that. She had shit to do and watching a god mope after being called out was not on her to-do list.

"Pretending you're not afraid will just make it worse," Priscilla said, crossing her arms. "It'll just give the fear more power over you it doesn't deserve, so stop being such a little bitch about something every single mortal has to grapple with – I thought you were supposed to be hot shit."

Her words seemed to startle the god back into looking at her, their mouth parted slightly.

"You–" the god began but swallowed, as if reconsidering what they were about to say. They glanced down as their nail traced the edge of the carved wings. "I am not being a 'little bitch' about it."

"Fine, you're a big ol' godly bitch about it," Priscilla said, just barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes again. "So, can we get back to the whole 'I'm about to die' bit you mentioned earlier? If you went through all the trouble of snatching my soul up, you care about me surviving at least a little."

The god opened their mouth and closed it as they glared at her. Priscilla raised both her eyebrows and looked at them expectantly.

The god sighed, as if suddenly tired.

"You're about to die," the god said plainly, as if speaking about how the sun rises each morning.

"Got that part."

The god glared. "Don't interrupt me, anomaly, or I'll send you back and let you embrace that fate."

Priscilla mimed zipping her lips.

"You're about to die," the god began again, "because the amount of magic within you will destroy you from the inside out as it liquefies your organs due to your pitiful constitution. However…" The god's gaze regained that contemplative look. "Because you prayed to me, you have another option before you."

Priscilla gave the god her best 'get on with it' look, trying to be casual even though her pulse was racing.

"You could offer the magic within you as a sacrifice to me," the god said, watching Priscilla carefully, "and I can use it to perform a miracle to save your life."

"What's the catch?" Priscilla asked, not trusting the god of cowards one bit.

The god's lips thinned in annoyance, as if they sensed how she referred to them within her head.

"Your soul would bear my mark," the god said, "and other gods would know upon meeting you that you are… a mortal I have a particular interest in."

Priscilla mulled that over, tapping her finger on her arm.

It didn't seem like the god was telling her everything, but Priscilla was hesitant to push more than she had already.

If she was being totally honest with herself, Priscilla knew she had gotten herself into a situation that was almost guaranteed to kill her without outside intervention. She hadn't counted on godly intervention, but at the moment, it seemed to be the only viable option she had in front of her. The mark upon Priscilla's soul seemed like it might come back to bite her in the ass, but at least Priscilla would be alive to deal with the consequences.

"And Illnyea?" Priscilla asked. "Can you do the same with her?"

The god frowned, making a dismissive gesture. "I have no hold over her fate – you are the only one that I have the power to make the offer to, as you prayed to me."

Priscilla bit her lip, unhappy about Illnyea's fate being an uncertainty, and her gaze fell to the golden blood that was running further down the god's arm. The god didn't acknowledge it, but Priscilla knew that the blood of gods held immense power and very few ever allowed themselves to spill it.

For the god to allow themself to be hurt meant the god saw it as a price they were willing to pay to give Priscilla this choice.

Priscilla chewed on her lip as the god said nothing while their golden blood kept flowing.

"Fine," Priscilla said. "Let's do this thing. Mark my soul or whatever you need to do to make this official."

Priscilla had to stay alive if she wanted a chance to save Illnyea, and this was the only option Priscilla had.

The god didn't seem particularly pleased that Priscilla said yes as they inclined their head.

"Don't resist," the god said as they stood, pulling themselves free from the thorn's embrace.

They dipped one perfect nail into the blood running down their arm, the paint absorbing it in a swirling pattern of purple and gold, before they reached forward and flicked Priscilla right in the middle of her forehead.

"My name is ––"

Priscilla missed the end of the god's sentence as she was rocketed out of the white space.

…

Illnyea was drowning.

The murky waters that surrounded her were thick and choppy, stealing the breath from Illnyea's lungs each time she went spinning. She couldn't see anything, didn't know what was happening, her skin itching like it was an uncomfortable suit.

Illnyea's arms flailed as she was tossed about in the current, searching for anything to hold onto.

Someone grabbed Illnyea's hand before she could sink into the abyss and she clung to them desperately. They held fast, pulling Illnyea up, up, up out of the storm, and Illnyea's face finally broke the surface.

She coughed out the choking water, trying to suck in enough air to thank the person holding her hand.

"Shh," her savior whispered, and Illnyea rose higher, the sea releasing its hold on her.

When Illnyea opened her eyes, she found that she had been gently placed onto soft ground. She looked up, wanting to see who had saved her, to see who was still holding her hand and knelt next to her.

But Illnyea paused, eyes going wide as she tried to process what she was seeing.

The person in front of Illnyea was… fractured, like a stained glass painting had been shattered and then cobbled back together in a way that was hurt to look at. Illnyea thought they might be a woman, one with strong arms and hands roughened from years of holding the sword, who was dressed in intricate armor, though the design was impossible to make out. A sword that radiated power was strapped to her side and a glimmering shield was strapped to her gauntlet. Illnyea's savior projected confidence in the way she held herself, like she knew how to bend the world to her will and wasn't afraid to do it again.

But where her savior's face should be, was an empty space, like someone had taken care to pick out every fractal to leave her savior without an identity.

As Illnyea looked at her savior, she didn't know why, but she started to cry.

"There's no need to cry," Illnyea's savior whispered, reaching out to brush away the tears. "You're safe now."

"But, but–" Illnyea couldn't even put a sentence together to articulate the sorrow rising within her, overwhelming all her other thoughts.

"You need to calm down now," said her savior compassionately. "Until then, we can't get you back to your sister."

It was like a bucket of ice had been dumped over Illnyea's head as the memory of the cannibal's camp came back to her, chasing away the sorrow and replacing it with panic.

"How do I protect her?" Illnyea asked, looking up at her faceless savior, hoping they'd have an answer. "The cannibal just became so powerful, and I–I don't know how–"

"Have faith in yourself," her savior said, shushing Illnyea with one distorted finger. "You are capable of far more than you think, little one."

"But what if I fail?" Illnyea asked pathetically, unable to keep her lips from wobbling.

Though her savior had no face, as she tilted her head, Illnyea swore that she could feel her savior smile.

"You won't," her savior said confidently.

"Really?" Illnyea couldn't help how small her voice was as she spoke.

Her savior chuckled, the sound soothing the worst of Illnyea's nerves.

"Really."

Something shifted inside Illnyea at that confirmation, like the world was realigning itself to make her savior's words true. Some of her savior's confidence seeped into Illnyea and she straightened her spine.

But before Illnyea said she was ready, she hesitated as she looked at her savior.

"Will I be able to see you again?" Illnyea asked.

Her savior paused, as if surprised by the question.

"I don't think so," her savior said carefully, "because it would mean something has gone very wrong."

Illnyea bit her lip, disappointed, but not willing to argue against someone who clearly understood what was going on far better than she did. Illnyea took another deep breath before saying, "I'm ready to go back now."

Her savior brought Illnyea to her feet.

"Thank you, savior," Illnyea said, looking up at the woman with no face.

"You need not thank me," her savior whispered as she let go of Illnyea's hand.

As the world dissolved around Illnyea, she heard, "May luck light your steps brighter than it did mine."

…

Priscilla came back to her body with a gasp, the pain she was in shocking her as she returned.

Frantic, Priscilla looked down at Illnyea, fearful of seeing that the cracks had grown.

But instead of a face twisted in pain, Illnyea was blinking up at Priscilla with wide, surprised eyes that weren't glowing. The yellow scarring was still there, but it had faded like it was a scar from years ago rather than appearing just a few seconds ago.

"How touching," The Starving One said, her voice cutting through the air. "I'll let you die together then."

Priscilla growled, twisting so she faced down the cannibal.

Now that the magical overload was over with, Priscilla could finally try and give this bitch the beating she deserved.

And that was when a blast of steaming hot water shot from the surrounding forest and hit The Starving One in the face, dead center.

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