My thoughts swirl as I descend the stairs into the catacombs beneath Templewall. A year ago, I never would have considered bringing a soul out of its rest, especially not for something as selfish as my own protection. But now, Nightblade’s words run through my mind. “Peace was stolen from me. The Dark Lords left nothing to rest for. If this form lets me strike them down, I’ll bear its curse.” If I’m honest, would I not make the same choice? If returning from the other side allowed me to protect those I love, how could I say no?

According to Deseba, the patron saints aren’t like Nightblade. Rather than being bound to a decaying physical form, they return as their purest selves – the spirit, which is meant to be eternal. Unlike Lamerra’s other undead servants, they make the choice to return to this plane, driven by their desire to push back the darkness with light. Would it be right to deny them their fight, when it is in my power to grant it? Would it be right to deny my companions additional protection?

The only sounds in the catacombs are my muffled footfalls and the echoes of whispered prayers. I’ve passed two or three mourners, kneeling in alcoves with lighted candles, hands folded in supplication. A chill breeze cuts through the thick fabric of my robes, and I shiver as those dead and undead chase each other through my memories. I’ve only visited these catacombs once, but I find myself drawn inexorably towards the center, towards…

I cut off that thought and blink back the tears that gather in my eyes. I really have no right to grieve; he died doing what he loved. Still, I can’t help but picture a scrawny, dark-haired boy, followed by a tall young man with serious eyes and a clever smile, followed by -

I clench my teeth, digging my fingernails into my palms. The pain brings me back to the present, and I realize that I’ve stopped walking. I read the name on the tomb in front of me, and the threatened tears spill slowly over my cheeks. I take half a step forward and brush my fingers across the familiar letters, just like I did the last time I was here, before slipping silently into the alcove next to the crypt. I fall to my knees more than kneel and let the tears flow freely as I lean my head against the cool stone of the wall.

“Prios, father of love,” I manage to choke out on a whispered sob. “Please… please guide this soul into your glorious kingdom.” I take a deep, steadying breath, waiting for the hollow ache in my chest to ease enough that I can continue. “Where the shadows can no longer reach him, where darkness never lingers, and where light shines forever.”

Agathara.

I hold my breath for a moment, not sure if I heard the breathless whisper of my name or an echoed sob from elsewhere in the tunnels. I open my eyes and turn my head slowly, half expecting to find a somber theurg or a fellow mourner standing behind me, but the hall is empty. I dab at my eyes with the back of my sleeve, grateful that at least no one has seen me in this state. I fold my hands in my lap, close my eyes, and bow my head. The familiar, sacred motions help calm my grief, allowing me to gather myself before pressing on.

“Prios, I don’t know what to do.” I draw in a shaky breath and tighten my fingers around each other. “To call someone back seems so unnatural, but I can’t say that I wouldn’t also wish to return. The world is dark, and there is so little light left…” My eyes open and glance towards the crypt next to me of their own volition. My voice breaks as I repeat, “So little light left. Please show me what is right, please show me what to do.”

Agathara.

I leap to my feet and whirl around, hand reaching instinctively for the dagger at my belt, certain of what I heard this time. “Who’s there?” I call, but the only answer is the echo of my own voice. I lean onto the balls of my feet, just far enough to peek out down the hall on either side of the alcove, only to find no signs of anyone else here. Except… is the tomb… glowing?

I step into the corridor and gaze in wonder at the sun emblazoned on the tomb. It shines as if lit from within, the flame of the soul inside too bright to be contained. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, sure that I must be imagining things. And when I look again, the glow is gone, leaving behind unremarkable bronze. My grief returns in a tremendous wave, and I hunch forward under the weight, my forehead finding rest against the cold metal. Except… the metal isn’t cold.

I stiffen immediately but lean back slowly, keeping my eyes locked on the sun and the too-familiar letters. I reach out hesitantly to brush my fingers across his name again and find that I didn’t imagine the warmth. It flows through my fingers like the glow of a campfire shared with close friends.

Agathara. Why do you fight alone?

I don’t recognize the voice, but it has to be Prios, doesn’t it? “Father, I… I don’t fight alone. I have faithful companions who I care for and who care for me. I wouldn’t have survived the darkness this long without their…” I hesitate, a sudden but familiar weight pressing on my chest. “Sacrifices.”

That’s not what I mean. I think we both know that, Little Flame.

My heart stutters. The voice doesn’t belong to Prios after all. How could I not have recognized it before?

“Aro?” I can hear the tremble in my own voice, but I don’t care. My eyes desperately scan the letters embossed in the bronze before closing against the sudden onslaught of tears. Those two beautiful, terrible words are burned on the backs of my eyelids – Aro Sunspear.

Agathara. The warmth radiating from that single word fills me with guilt and a longing ache. Look how strong you’ve become.

“Aro,” I choke out, “I’m so sorry. I know-” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Are you happy where you are?”

Immensely. But I would be much happier among the living, fighting the darkness.

I cross my arms, barely managing to hold myself together. What do you say to an estranged friend, gone much too soon? “Deseba says there are many like you, who would rather be here. Is that true?”

Yes. How can we rest when those we love still live in danger? He must feel my hesitation, because he continues without waiting for a response. Summon a patron saint. Let us help you. I can almost see the familiar pride and affection in his eyes as he says You’re something of a celebrity on this side, Silver Lady.

The heat under my palms flares for a moment – bright, fierce, impossible – then is gone.

I’m surprised by how prepared Deseba is to perform the ritual with me. Maybe she knew what path I would choose even before I did.

I kneel at the altar in the sanctuary, breathing in the scent of smoke from the ring of candles surrounding me and the crisp and familiar smell of old paper from the open prayer book in my hands. I can hear an occasional scrape or scuff from my companions waiting on the other side of the heavy oak doors. Even in such a sacred place, none of us feels completely safe without the others. The warm light of the sun glows through the stained glass windows, bathing the entire room in muted shades of yellow, orange, and red.

“Faithful Prios, father of light, hear my prayer this day,” I read aloud, fixing my eyes on the page. I can hear Deseba murmuring her own prayers from the nearest bench, though what she’s praying for, I can’t say for sure. “In this time of direst need, grant my supplication.”

Deseba hadn’t seemed surprised to see me return from the catacombs with shaking hands and tear-stained cheeks. Instead, she had pulled me into a tight hug and listened patiently as the story of my conversation with Aro spilled out between sobs. She had gone with me the first time I visited Aro’s tomb, not understanding why I was so grieved by the death of a seemingly random templar, until I told her the whole story – how I had met him in my darkest hour, how our friendship had grown deep roots, how everything had ended with heated words and misunderstanding.

“Your light has ever shone upon me, giving me strength and assurance of dawn.”

_I had pulled back from Deseba’s embrace to look into her eyes, needing her to understand. “I want to summon a patron saint. I know that I can’t bring him back, but I think he’s right. I think it’s time.”

Her expression had reminded me so much of his – the same affection, the same pride, the same confidence that I would choose the right path. “I have everything prepared, meet me in the sanctuary in half an hour.”_

“But now the light dims and the shadows deepen, and my spirit falters, crushed by the fight.”

I hadn’t been sure how to explain my choice to Reginald and Kurano. After seeing my constant conflict with Lamerra and his undead, this had to seem very unlike me, possibly even like I was possessed by a nightmare again. I had done my best to explain my reasoning and hoped that they would understand. And in the end, they and Kurava had decided to accompany me to the sanctuary and keep watch outside its doors.

My heart swells with love and gratitude for my living companions as I continue. “Great Lightbringer, I beg for your mercy. My heart will be lost apart from your light.”

Once inside the sanctuary, Deseba had guided me through the preparations for the ritual: the placement and lighting of ceremonial candles, the reading of various liturgies on life and death, the silent meditation on those I had lost. I hadn’t bothered to hide my tears as too many faces of the dead found their way into my thoughts. Aro. Igni and Flare. Rafiki. Coriol.

And now here I am, faith rising in my chest, my voice clear and strong as I read the last lines of the ritual. “Return a soul from beyond the veil, a warrior to stand against the night; that our flames combined make the darkness flee, that his light rekindle hope in me.”

The entire sanctuary plunges into darkness. The candles snuff out in a heartbeat, the warm light from the stained glass vanishing in an instant. The words to summon my Holy Aura are already on my lips as I reach for my sun pendant. But then the candles blaze brightly, and I realize that I am no longer alone in the circle. A vague human form kneels before me, head bowed and shoulders heaving as though gasping for breath. I instinctively reach forward, healing light already pooling in my fingertips, ready to aid this stranger, when he lifts his head and smiles at me.

My heart stops completely, but not in time to stop my hands. My palm comes to rest on his shoulder, and sparkling gold radiance spreads from my touch throughout his entire body. I had expected a stranger to return from the other side. I hadn’t even dared to give thought to what I really wanted. And yet here he is, studying me with dark eyes full of awe and triumph.

“Aro?” I breathe.

He lifts my hand from his shoulder and raises it to his lips, kissing it with something resembling reverence. “I prayed that Prios would allow me the honor of returning to you, Little Flame. Let us fight this darkness side by side once more.”

The Ritual Faithful Prios, father of light, hear my plea this day. In this time of direst need, grant my supplication. Your light has ever shone upon me, Giving me strength and assurance of dawn. But now the light dims and the shadows deepen, And my spirit falters, crushed by the fight. Great Lightbringer, I beg for your mercy. My heart will be lost apart from your light. Return a soul from beyond the veil, A warrior to stand against the night; That our flames combined make the darkness flee, That his light rekindle hope in me.