Judgement shifted in his slackening grip, causing Orthael to clench his fist with a hundred battles’ worth of instinct and experience. The point dipped, causing golden droplets of fire to drip down to briefly illuminate the forest floor before disappearing without a worldly trace.

Malika strode with purpose back toward the ruin of her village, caring little whether or not the holy man Orthael followed. She would complete her task, with his help or without it. It mattered not to her which way the work at hand was done.

As silently as the High Angel before it, Judgement whispered echoes of its past to Orthael. There had been many who had made similar vows in a time long before, when the Dead had arisen in such numbers that the darkness had very much threatened to overwhelm the light.