A few of her belongings were already gathered in a small, sad pile near her bed, packed in anticipation of an exile that had been violently interrupted.
Mola: "There's only one bed... I'm afraid you'll have to make do with just some sheets."
Xayn waved a dismissive hand, the gesture graceful even in his new, unfamiliar body.
Xayn: "We don't rest the same way you do. Thank you for your concern, however."
Mola's gaze fell to the floor, her shoulders slumping.
Mola: "Right... You're still undead, after all."
The words were not bitter, nor were they a taunt. They were a whisper of profound, shared sorrow, a recognition of their common state as things that did not belong.
A small, dry chuckle escaped Bazren's new lips.
Bazren: "It's not as bad as it may seem, you know."
Xayn betrayed a faint smile, knowing her jest for what it was -- a flimsy shield within the strange hurricane of darkness and deceit they found themselves in. Mola, however, simply nodded, too broken to register the irony.
Mola: "I-I bet."
She turned to the simple cot, her movements stiff as she arranged the sheets and pillow.
Xayn: "See you in the morning, Mola."
Mola: "... Mhm."
She laid down without another word, turning her back to them, curling into a tight ball as if to make herself smaller, to disappear entirely.
Bazren met Xayn's cyan gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. Together, they knelt on the cold stone floor, assuming poses of deep stillness. Xayn's was meditative, back straight, hands resting on his knees in a posture of perfect, tranquil symmetry. Bazren's was more casual, one leg crossed before her, the other bent in a kneel, her arm resting on her thigh in an attitude of careless repose.
In moments, the faint, unnatural light in their eyes faded to nothing. Their new bodies, so deceptively alive, became rigid, falling into the deep, conscious-less stasis that passed for their slumber.
In the quiet that followed, the only sound was Mola's weeping. A silent, desperate grief, tears soaking her pillow, her body shuddering with each stifled sob.
"...Mola?"
Squelch.
The memory, visceral and sharp, tore through her mind: the horrifying sound of the heart being ripped from her Master's chest. She clutched the sheets, her knuckles white, tears flowing freely now, hot trails on her cold cheeks.
As exhaustion began to drag her under, she felt it. A presence. A gentle touch, impossibly soft, stroking her hair. Wiping the tears from her face.
It couldn't be real. It was a dream, a phantom conjured by a mind shattered by grief. She didn't dare open her eyes, didn't dare break the fragile illusion. She needed it too much.
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The figure knelt before her, the mattress dipping slightly with an unseen weight. A kiss, light as a moth's wing, touched her forehead. Then, a voice whispered in her ear.
"It's okay..."
Sweet. Motherly. A fiery, strict voice she knew better than her own. A fresh wave of tears broke from her.
"... If I were you, I would've done the exact. Same. Thing."
The tone shifted. The sweetness curdled, turning sharp, cold, and dripping with a venom that jolted her awake.
Her eyes snapped open.
Nothing.
The room was empty, save for the two still figures on the floor. The presence had vanished as if it had never been. The words of Tentoria's chilling promise reverberated in the sudden silence.
"Now, she will never leave you."
The memory of the judgment hall returned -- not her memory, but her Master's. What could it mean? Was she truly gone? Or had some part of her, some terrible, lingering piece, taken root inside her?
A strange tingling sensation drew her attention to her maimed hand. She held it up in the flickering candlelight. For a breathtaking, horrifying second, a crackle of violet energy danced around her fingertips. The faint, blurry silhouette of spectral claws pulsed with a malevolent light.
Then, it was gone.
Mola slammed her hand shut, clutching it to her chest.
Mola (whispering): "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."
That night, Mola finally cried herself to sleep.
At last, the room fell utterly silent. The only sound to disrupt the quiet that of the wind, moaning through the the tower's shattered windows -- a mournful dirge. It was a pleasant cold, a clean breeze that did little to disturb the gelid stillness of the two slumbering revenants. Hours passed. Then, almost in perfect sync, two pairs of eyes ignited in the darkness, one glowing with the soft pink of a compass rose, the other with the cold cyan of a flowing enso.
Mobility returned to their limbs. Slowly, silently, they rose. Bazren inclined her head towards the spiral staircase, and Xayn gave a single, assenting nod.
They moved with a stealth that was utterly inhuman, their bare feet making no sound on the stone as they ascended back into the solitude of the wrecked study. There, under the cold gaze of the stars visible through the ruined roof, they could finally speak.
Bazren ran her fingers through a thick mane of dark hair, a gesture both foreign and exhilarating. A wide, ear-to-ear grin split her new features, followed by a low, mischievous chuckle that she barely contained.
Bazren: "Well, well, Xayn. Take a good look at us!"
She spun to face him, spreading her arms wide in presentation.
Bazren: "Flesh and bone! If only the others could see us now...!"
Xayn couldn't suppress a small smile, the expression feeling strange on his new face.
Xayn: "It does feel nice to look down and not have to see..."
He gazed at his own open palms -- smooth, unblemished, alive.
Xayn: "...torn flesh and broken bone."
He clenched them into tight fists, the sensation of muscle and sinew a startling novelty. He met her blazing pink gaze.
Xayn: "One step closer to taking back what's *ours*."
Bazren's smile widened, showing teeth that were pearly-white and unnervingly perfect. She nodded, her excitement a palpable energy.
Bazren: "Damn right. Come on!"
She approached him, arms still open.
Bazren: "Give me a big one!"
Smiling, Xayn closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her. Their bodies were as cold as ever, a deep, grave-chill that clung to them like a shroud, but the hard, sharp edges of protruding bone had been replaced by the soft give of muscle and flesh.
Bazren laughed, a sharp sound of triumph in the quiet ruin, but Xayn's smile turned melancholic.
Xayn: "It's just a shame he's not here to share this moment with us..."
Bazren's smile softened but did not vanish. She rested her chin on his shoulder, patting his back with a firm, comforting rhythm.
Bazren: "One day, we'll be there to share it with him. We have to."
Turning his hand into a tight fist, Xayn let out a deep, shuddering exhalation.
Xayn: "... We have to."
They broke the embrace, and Bazren gave his chest a light, playful punch.
Bazren: "C'mon, no sulking! You know he'd hate that!"
A genuine, if fleeting, smile touched Xayn's lips. He nodded.
Xayn: "Yeah... You're damn right. Alright!"
He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp in the stillness, then rubbed them together with renewed purpose.
Xayn: "Eyes on the prize! We've an entire realm to return to life."