*COMPLETE* "People don't believe in us anymore. They don't believe that in the end we will do what is right. We can't let them down. We can't let Ben win."
Decisions made on top of the lonely, wind-swept cliff of Lethinor reverberate around the five...
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It takes them three days to dissect the body.
They meet in the morgue, where it is laid out on a cold stone slab. Allayria, who has seen her fair share of violence and horror, feels her stomach give a queasy lurch when she glances down at it, and Hai Sofo gives voice to this with a sudden retch held behind a withered hand.
"As you can see," Dynast Wren intones in a bland, almost bored tone, "none of the primary organs have been tampered with. Nor, interestingly, was the spine touched—as it had been in those diagrams the Paragon had collected. It is only when you open the skull that you find something amiss."
He taps the side of Wey's head and a sallow-faced assistant reaches over, lifting the skull back. Allayria feels Lei shift next to her, pulling subtly back.
Inside are all the normal things Allayria would expect—things she has frankly never wanted to see, especially when she knew the person they belonged to—but there is also something else. A small band of cold, shining metal lies across the top of the brain, glinting innocently in the candlelight.
"It's quite brilliant," the Dynast continues. "They hid the scar in the hairline, which is why our doctors never identified it."
"What is that?" Aren Dost demands.
"We're not entirely certain," Wren answers, "I was hoping this would be something the Paragon could help us with."
Seven pairs of eyes suddenly fix on her, sharp, with an added layer of suspicion—another consequence of the prior day's events—and Allayria swallows back the nausea.
"How might I be of assistance?" she asks, relieved that her voice does not shake.
"Reach out with your Spirit Skilling," Wren requests. "Tell us if you can sense anything."
She fights not to glance at Ruben, not to give any indication that this request causes her uneasiness, because even with an already dead subject she's remembering the last time she used Spirit Skilling on a body and the horrendous feeling twitches along her fingers, a ghostly echo of shock and shattered things. She tries to stamp something like a courteous smile on her face and steps forward, though her feet do not want to carry her this way. She reaches out a hand but she can't bring herself to touch it, instead hovering far too closely above. She closes her eyes because it's slightly easier to forget all the stares trained on her as she does so, and she seeks.
A beat passes, then another. And when she opens her eyes confusion crinkles across them.
"I don't feel anything," she tells Wren.
He hums, a finger tapping his lips as he surveys her.
"What about Smith Skilling?" he queries, a vaguely calculating expression crossing his face. "Try it with your Smith Skill."
She nods and turns back, and when she reaches out she feels something. Her hand jerks back, a shiver crawling up her fingertips as the muted sounds of low murmuring reach her ears.
