Beru crossed the damp ground until she reached a small stream that rambled off from the river. The god had been quiet all morning, she realized. In fact, she heard its voice less and less now. But it wasn’t because she was getting better at blocking it out. It was because the god’s thoughts were seeping into her own. It didn’t need to speak to communicate with her anymore. She could feel it.

A sudden chill spiked through her. She knelt beside the stream, cupping her hands and splashing cold water over her face. The stream was so still that when Beru looked down, she could see her own face staring back at her.

She touched her cheek. The Beru in the water did the same. Her reflection looked exactly as it always did—her eyes a little more tired, perhaps, her face a little thinner. But somehow, she didn’t recognize the girl that stared back at her. She felt almost nauseated when she looked at her own face, like there was something wrong with it. Like there was someone—or something—else she was expecting to see.

She took a breath, and as she exhaled, she realized that she wasn’t alone. She didn’t know how exactly the awareness came to her, except that when a familiar figure emerged between the birch trees, she wasn’t surprised.

“Lazaros,” she said calmly. “You found me.”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he asked. “The Holy Creator lives inside you. Nothing would stop me from searching for you. I will do whatever it takes to keep you from those who would harm you.”

“You mean like Pallas?” Beru asked, spinning around to face him. “You know the god hates him, don’t you?”

Lazaros didn’t answer.

“But go ahead,” Beru said, holding out her wrists. “Drag me back there in chains.”

“Pallas is putting right the sins of the Prophets,” Lazaros said, drawing closer. “Cleansing the world of their mistakes.”

“Pallas is a Prophet,” Beru said. “He killed the god. He led the charge.”

“None of us are born pure,” Lazaros said. “We must make ourselves so. As I did.”

He touched one of the ragged Godfire scars at his jaw.

“Pallas doesn’t want purity—he wants power,” Beru replied. “At any cost. And you? You’re just a convenient tool to help him get it.”

He stared at her, his gray eyes cold and indifferent.

“So are you going to call your friends, or what?” Beru challenged.

And she saw it. Hesitation. It was just the space between one breath and the next, but there Beru saw a flicker of doubt.

“Beru!”

She turned to find Hector barreling through the trees toward her.

“Get away from her!” Hector yelled.

Lazaros unsheathed his Godfire blade and charged at him.