The army marched inexorably forward, guarding a strange caravan in the middle of the milling mass of soldiers and scripted forces.  A dreary sky that threatened rain subdued most talk and kept the majority from looking around too much.  And within the otherwise faceless force, Jiyong marched with them, traveling to the side where he could see the contents of what they protected.  A large wagon rolled along, pulled by six, massive brown draft horses who plodded through the churned dirt as if it was nothing.  The High Priestess of Amarath rode at the forefront, on a white mare no less, with her flock of priestesses spread out around the wagon itself.  They rode black and brown mares, though none of them looked at the person standing within the open bed.

                But Jiyong did.  His dark eyes saw the dark blonde hair fluttering in the wind.  His gloved hand tightened on the long sword at his hip when he could tell, even from this distance, that she was like a statue: marble skin practically gleamed in the dying light of the day and her normally warm, brown eyes were unnaturally green.  Even the clothes she wore were not her own.  Pale fragments of cloth swayed in the breeze, giving her an ethereal appearance at odds with the massive sword held before her.  The claymore should have been much too difficult for her to wield and yet it rested easy in both her hands with the tip perched atop the wagon floor, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

                In her time at the temple, something had changed about her and Jiyong didn’t like any of it.  A nudge at his side dragged his unwavering attention from the center as Seunghyun spoke to him.  “You shouldn’t stare,” the taller man reminded him softly, the sound almost lost in the continuous drone of marching feet and shifting armor.  Pounded metal bands overlaid almost seamlessly on top of each other provided mostly impenetrable defenses, but it stifled his mobility and reach.

                Frowning, the other soldier glared up at his companion, catching sight of the pale and nervous face inside.  Dark eyes looked back at him from under a similar helmet as his and he sighed.  The heavy armor suddenly felt too constricting and he longed to discard it for the leathers he was used to fighting in.  “That’s Chaerin up there,” he reminded his friend, knowing he’d remember the countless tales he’d spoken about her in their two years of service together.

                “Not anymore, Ji,” he shrugged apologetically with a quick glance at the center again, teeth catching on his bottom lip when one of the priestesses looked across the crowd in their direction.

                “Yes she is,” the shorter man defended stalwartly, shaking his head slightly where he could feel the sweat beading under his helmet and trickling through his black hair.

                “She’s Amarath’s Avatar now,” Seunghyun reminded him as he turned his gaze back to the direction they were heading.

                “Maybe,” Jiyong acknowledged while he eventually followed the other soldier’s example.  “But she’s still Chaerin.  She’s still the girl I grew up.  Still the one I promised to find after this madness was over,” he muttered through gritted teeth.  “And I refuse to believe she’s not there anymore.”  He could practically feel his companion’s pity at his side and it angered him again.

                Refusing to look over, he stared into the distance where another force was marching to meet theirs.  The dead lands of Vyrian’s Madness was a suitable place to wage a war after all.  There was nothing to get in their way as the armies fought; nothing to hide behind or seek cover under; nothing to let anyone slink away unnoticed save the insanity of combat.  It didn’t matter that the fight was a religious one, waged between the scions of Amarath and Moraline: the goddesses of light and dark.  Nor did it matter that regardless of which side won this encounter, another would occur in a half-century again, the battle as ritualistic as it was symbolic.

                Right then, Jiyong just wanted to end the whole damn thing so he could get her back.  “Don’t die today,” he grumbled under his breath with a sidelong glance out of his helmet, his vision partially obscured by the protective covering.

                “Same to you,” the other man snorted, clapping his friend on the shoulder with a gauntleted hand.  He shrugged broad shoulders and adjusted the longsword at his hip in turn, evidence that nerves were beginning to get to him too.

                Again, Jiyong couldn’t help but look back at Chaerin and frown.  She had been fine when he saw her off at the border of Amarath’s temple near the Rythalian Mountains.  She hadn’t been happy about being carted off as a possible vessel for the goddess’ power but gone she had, with a regiment of priestesses at her side.  Jiyong had volunteered to go with them, as a guard and as her friend.  They had not complained nor had they interfered when the two made their peace.

                The memory burned bitterly in his mind when he was faced with the statuesque creature that now stood in Chaerin’s place.  He would get her back.  One way or the other, though he didn’t know how.  But first…  His angry gaze shifted back to the army coming within range in front of them.  They had a war to win.

                Stillness settled over both forces like a death pall when they stopped moving almost simultaneously.  No one said a word.  No one moved a muscle.  And only the horses were blessedly unaware enough to act as if nothing was amiss, pawing at the ground and shaking their heads, jangling the metal on their reins like bells.  The sky above continued to grow dark as night began to settle in, granting the assumption that Moraline would have the advantage this time.

                The Goddesses’ High Priestesses rode forward where the soldiers in their way melted aside without a single word being spoken.  Tension followed in their wake as the two mounted women met in the middle of the field.  None could hear their words though Amarath’s Avatar hefted her claymore up and held it in one hand, the blade resting easy at her hip.  Across the distance, in a similar wagon, another figure in black clothing followed suit, raising a scythe instead.

                All eyes turned to the sky when the clouds above churned, funneling like a whirlpool over the respective Avatars.  A burst of light burned through the covering overhead and engulfed both figures in radiance.  Chaerin’s green eyes blazed as her face tilted up, basking in the glow before she hunched forward, bowing her head and back.

                Jiyong inhaled sharply at the sight as massive, white wings flowed from her shoulder blades.  Large feathers shivered in the air, stretching out nearly three wagon-lengths before the elegant appendages bent and folded neatly against her back.  When Chaerin straightened up again, the curved edges of her wings rose above her head while the tips brushed against the surface she stood on.

                “By Amarath’s power,” Jiyong whispered in awe, realizing the goddesses were actually present. In spirit if not in form.  How else could he explain the obvious gifting of power to their chosen avatars…?

                Mesmerized by Chaerin, Jiyong did not see as the High Priestesses raised their hands to the sky in obvious supplication.  He did not see the same roiling clouds above their miniscule forms.  His eyes were only for the Avatar who was oblivious of his existence.  But he heard the deafening crack of power that rent the sky and laid waste to the calm arresting the armies.  A growing roar rose up from the ranks, starting low and then cresting with a reverberating crescendo that matched the mad drumming of armored feet as both forces charged.

                Jiyong was swept away by the press of bodies, each one trying to ready their weapon without spitting the warrior in front.  Chaerin was lost to him as he was forced to focus on the battle.  His allies stalled when the front line met in an awful crash of screams and tortured metal.  The rest of the army pushed at him from behind, making those in the middle feel as if they might be crushed while the ones fighting at the fore jockeyed for position.

                It was suffocating and Jiyong couldn’t move.  A panicked glance at Seunghyun showed him in a similar position and the air grew thick with their fear until… the stalemate broke and the forces blended together like oil and water.  Enemies bearing the crest of Moraline streamed through the ranks, causing mayhem and destruction in their passing.

                Like everyone else in the army, Jiyong was jostled about, shoved this way and that until he was able to retrieve his sword and finally search for a target.  His first one found him, dual hand scythes carving through his allies before he jumped in the way, meeting the double weapons with his longsword.  The other man’s strength was formidable and Jiyong’s arms trembled at the stalemate.  They broke apart for but a heartbeat before their blades flashed in the air between them.  Their awkward dance was threatened by outside forces: a shove here, the flash of an errant blade there, some fallen soldier snarling their footing.

                For a moment, Jiyong thought he might be cut down from behind until he jumped when he saw his foe fall instead.  In his place stood another soldier, his longsword red with the warrior’s blood.  He didn’t even look at Jiyong before he was off searching for another target.  But there was a roaring in his ears and it took him a while to realize the sound was coming from him too, and not just the army at large.  His throat was raw and his hands ached and the battle had only just begun.

                But the first kill was done and there was no more time for Jiyong to wonder about the man who might not have been his enemy in different times.  Unnatural light above, granted by the goddesses so their scions might see, illuminated the barren fields.  Dry earth turned muddy and dark with the spilled blood of friend and foe alike.

                Clanging metal and screaming voices echoed over the fields as the number of fallen continued to grow.  And all the while, the Avatars of the goddesses flew above their heads, crashing into each other in furious combat.  Chaerin’s claymore howled in the air and pounded savagely against the scythe brought to bear against her.  Massive wings flapped hard, sending white and black feathers raining down on those beneath them.  Open wounds rained droplets of blood like ruby tears glinting in the light.

                And Jiyong wanted to watch.  He wanted to make sure that Chaerin would not fall, but the never ending stream of enemies against him continued to come.  Doggedly, he fought on, even as it became a struggle to draw the next breath.  His sword felt so heavy in his hands and his arms were like lead.  Shucking his heavy armor and helm helped him to breathe again, but he immediately felt the bite of someone’s blade with the loss of protection.

                Swiveling around with renewed energy and fervor, his blade found the chink in his opponent’s armor and the man’s head toppled from his body.  Gasping where he stood, Jiyong looked around with wide eyes, teeth bared like fangs.  It felt as if he’d been fighting forever and yet there was no way to tell.  Matted black, hair clung to his forehead and he looked around, searching for a foe before he froze when he saw Chaerin fighting on the ground with Moraline’s Avatar.  One of her wings was mostly gone, like her opponent, and they were dueling furiously on foot.

                Without pausing to think about what he was doing, Jiyong sprinted towards them with reserves he didn’t know he had.  His sword rose up as he threw himself towards Moraline’s Avatar with a broken shout.  Her blue eyes focused on him and he saw death in her gaze.

                His cry was cut short when something struck him hard across the stomach.  He flew back and hit the ground where his sword jumped from his hand.  A woman’s voice snarled in pain and Jiyong nearly choked, roused to see what had happened.  Through teary eyes, he watched Chaerin’s other white wing fall to the ground as she came to a stand still with the bloody claymore held tightly in both hands, her back to Moraline’s Avatar.

                Jiyong’s already unwilling breath lodged further in his throat and he tried to speak but no words would come.  Fearing for Chaerin’s life, he clawed for some sort of weapon and threw himself towards his sword, landing flat on his stomach, aching all over.  He feared he was too late as Moraline’s Avatar wavered, but she did not attack.  The scythe fell from her unresponsive fingers and she went with it, her body cut in twain at the waist.  As the weapon fell, she turned to stone before his eyes.

                Power exploded overhead and the light that had been shielding them all disappeared entirely.  The divine presence of the goddesses waned and the sounds of fighting died out slowly.  It was over.

                Almost.

                Amarath’s Avatar stood upright and turned to leave, heading back towards where the High Priestess was.  Jiyong couldn’t let that happen.  He didn’t know what would become of Chaerin if he let her out of his sight again.  “Chaerin!” he croaked as he clambered awkwardly to his feet.  He was covered in dark mud, held no weapon, and his abdomen burned from the unseen blow, but he stomped after her all the same.

                The Avatar paused and looked over her blood covered shoulder with green eyes that practically glowed in the dark.  “That woman is no longer here,” she murmured flatly, her voice devoid of warmth.

                “Where is she?” Jiyong hissed, coming closer with angry determination.

                “Gone.”

                “No!” he shouted, stumbling over a body on the field so that he nearly fell into her.

                She caught him with her offhand, holding to his shoulder and keeping him at arm’s length.  With the contact, he stiffened and inhaled sharply as he was overwhelmed by images in his mind.

                His lips were sweet when she kissed him goodbye.  The strong arms around her waist held her close, promising protection she knew he couldn’t give when she left.  So she kissed him back, long and hard, fearing she would not be able to keep her promise to him.  Two years was a long time and no one knew what would happen in the future.

                She smiled at the other women in the temple.  All possible Avatars for Amarath.  They had been gathered from all over the continent, collected before Moraline could seek them out in turn.  Friends, allies, and sisters, they’d spent nearly two years in each others’ company, learning what it would mean to be the goddess’ avatar.  All were familiar with the ritualistic battle that assuaged Amarath and Moraline’s enmity against each other, regardless of the victor.  Marks upon marks of meditation and preparing the body had drawn them all together, bound by their common situation.  The testing would begin within the fortnight.  Time was growing short and a vessel had to be selected for the battle.

                Sandara beamed at her and ran close, threading their fingers together in her excitement as she bounced on her feet, wavy brown hair bobbing with her.  She was to be tested soon!  The goddess would decide who her chosen vessel would be in the next moon.  The news only served to make Chaerin more nervous.  They had seen some of those who were not fit to be the Avatar and they were changed by the ordeal.  Her sisters were diminished, lost, and it made her sad, but she smiled bravely for Sandara anyway.  She was older than most of them and had more spirit.  Maybe she would be what the goddess needed.

                Chaerin tried hard not to cry as dull, lifeless eyes met hers the next time she saw Sandara.  The spark of life that had always been there was gone.  Looking to the High Priestess for answers had given none that were acceptable.  All Amarath’s chosen were worthy…  It did not seem right to her that the brilliance of the goddess would burn away that which made them who they were.  Such a response only hardened her resolve.

                It was her turn to be tested.  Nerves grew wings to swarm like butterflies in her stomach.  The statue of Amarath loomed over her, magnanimous and beautiful, though foreboding and frightening when the shadows from the firelight flickered over her face.  She was guided to the base of the statue where the High Priestess placed one hand upon Amarath’s likeness and the other against Chaerin’s chest as she became the conduit for Her power.  Warmth spread through Chaerin, seeping into every part of her, filling her with Amarath’s grace.  Tears trailed down her face at the overwhelming sensation as a heavy weight settled in her palm: a weapon of some kind.  But just as quickly, her tears became all too real when the warmth turned hot, burning her from the inside out as she was filled too full.

                Chaerin cried out, fighting back, but her body did not move.  She clawed and beat at the force levied against her, the divine power that sought to replace her in her own form.  A silent shout of denial rang shrilly in her mind and slowly, oh so slowly, Chaerin was pushed aside, diminished and nearly gone but not destroyed.  Satisfaction bloomed and overtook everything.

                Darkness washed over Jiyong.  It felt so long that he wondered if perhaps he was dreaming or had fallen unconscious, save he knew he was still aware.  He was still floating in whatever connection the Avatar had established with him, but something was different.  There was a tension present that hadn’t been there before.  The grip on his shoulder was harder, more claw like, and it hurt, but she did not let go.  He tried to move to get away but his vision sparked again.

                Someone was screaming.  He was in danger.

                Jiyong!

                Bedraggled clothes and matted hair appeared in her vision when she saw him flying through the air towards Moraline’s Avatar.  She would kill him.  And Chaerin saw he knew it.  Her body resisted for the briefest of moments before the sword in her hand shifted and she moved towards them both.  Her claymore swooshed through the air and bat Jiyong from the sky with the flat of her blade.  The scythe, initially intended for Jiyong, changed directions, arcing towards her instead.

                Duck!

                Bringing her feet close together, Chaerin pivoted in place and bowed her back, leaving her remaining wing vulnerable while she faced briefly away from Moraline’s Avatar.  The blade chopped through bone and severed the appendage cleanly, sparking a jolt of pain but for a moment before Chaerin continued swinging her claymore around.  Planting her right foot, she came in low, under the other woman’s guard.  The massive weapon shifted in her hands again and the blade cleaved through her opponent’s waist as they stepped apart.

                He was safe…  Relief suffused her before overwhelming power returned, dragging her back to the depths of unawareness.

                “Gone,” Amarath’s Avatar reiterated, shoving Jiyong away forcefully as she seemed somewhat shaken by the encounter.

                Unable to keep to his feet, Jiyong stumbled backwards and fell on the ground again.  “No she’s not!” he spat out anyway, wincing when trying to get to his feet proved to be more challenging than usual.

                “Come along, Avatar,” the High Priestess called, riding up on her white mare.  Irritatingly, the pair looked almost immaculate in comparison to everyone else, including Chaerin.

                “I won’t let you have her again!” Jiyong growled through his teeth, crawling forward on his hands and knees until he could get to his feet.  Amarath’s Avatar looked at him though, and there was no sign of Chaerin as she raised her claymore against him.  Jiyong tried to stop himself but his momentum carried him along anyway.  He cringed preemptively, waiting for the bite of the blade.  But something else crashed into him from the side and metal clanged as he hit the ground hard.

                “Ugh!” an exhausted, deep voice groaned.

                “Seunghyun!” Jiyong coughed, looking up to see his friend cradling a broken arm close with the warped sword forgotten on the ground.  It was a miracle he was still standing.

                “Bad idea,” he hissed in pain, cringing while he waited to see what else Amarath’s Avatar would do.

                Grunting under his breath, Jiyong looked around and saw the scythe nearby.  He didn’t know how to use one but at least it wouldn’t break.  He hoped.  Jiyong crawled back to get it before he lurched to his feet and threw himself towards Chaerin.  By the look on her distracted face, she was actively debating whether to kill Seunghyun or not.  Regardless, he needed to get the weapon away from her; the damn thing was too good at killing people.

                “Leave him alone!” he growled, swinging the heavy weapon awkwardly with his tired body.

                Amarath’s Avatar blinked in surprise and brought her claymore up to disarm him.  Both flinched in surprise when the weapons met with a hum of power before flying apart, ripped free from the hands that were holding them.

                “No!” the Avatar and High Priestess shrieked in denial, the former lunging after the weapon.

                Jiyong recovered just in time to see Chaerin stop as the marble skin solidified, holding her in place.  “Chaerin?” he exhaled in surprise, looking after the weapon and back again.

                “Now look what you’ve done!” the High Priestess snapped, clearly disappointed and angry with the turn of events.

                “Change her back!” Jiyong shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman on horseback.

                “You’ve ruined our chance to use Amarath’s power for the greater good!” she scowled at him, her pretty face twisted into an ugly, angry mask.

                “I don’t care!” the soldier yelled in return, limping up to Chaerin’s stone body.  “You took her away from me!  And now you need to fix her!” he snapped, turning an equally irate glare at the High Priestess.

                “I cannot,” she snapped, pulling the mare in a tight circle when she fidgeted at the sound of the loud voices.  Her gaze turned thoughtful as she looked between the pair though.  “I see,” she murmured with her fingers resting on her chin.  “You must be the one she would speak of in the temple.  I think I understand why,” she took a deep breath and rolled her eyes with a shake of her head.  “Foolish man,” she couldn’t help but add as she rode off without another look at him, gesturing for the priestesses to retrieve the claymore and head off the battlefield with the rest of the battered troops, their mission accomplished.

                Jiyong was aware of someone else retrieving the scythe but after scowling at the useless High Priestess, his attention returned unerringly to Chaerin.  “Come on, Rin,” he whispered, supporting himself on her outstretched arm as he stood directly in front of her.  Marble greeted him, perfectly carved in the exact shape of her face.  “Come back,” he pleaded, running his fingertips against her smooth cheek before he caressed the same spot with the backs of his fingers.  He combed his hand over her unmoving hair and pressed his forehead against hers.  “Come on, Chaerin,” he whispered, holding tightly to her arm and the back of her neck.  “I know you’re in there.”

                “Ji,” Seunghyun awkwardly cleared his throat, shuffling nearby with his broken arm still cradled close to his chest.  “We should go.”

                “No.”  A quick glance showed that they were very nearly the only ones left on the battlefield.  Granted, it was hard to see in the dark and the bodies of the fallen created strange shapes in the shadows, but silence otherwise reigned.  It made everything feel colder, as cold as Chaerin’s stone skin, and he shivered.

                “Aw, e man…” he groaned heavily, sitting down with a lengthy sigh and an audible wince.

                “Thank you for saving me, but I can’t leave her,” Jiyong explained, taking another shallow breath as he closed his eyes and hugged her awkwardly, the strange position making it difficult.

                Seunghyun sighed and grunted, “Yeah, yeah.  What’s a little more time gonna hurt?” he offered, falling onto his back so he could rest his eyes, if nothing else.  He was already filthy and battered; a little more muck wasn’t going to hurt anything.

                Carefully, Jiyong shuffled around so he could hug Chaerin from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder.  With his arms wrapped around her waist and his chest pressed against her back – he had to ignore the weird wing stumps digging into him – he could whisper into her ear.  “I saw you, Rin.  You saved me today.”  He nuzzled her stone hair gently.  “And I’m here to keep my promise.  That means you should too,” he forced a laugh, tightening his arms around her.  “Goddesses be damned,” he muttered, hugging so tight it hurt.  “You were the only person worth fighting for today.”

                “I’m hurt, Ji,” Seunghyun mumbled from the ground where he could apparently just hear what Jiyong was saying.

                The words prompted the barest of chuckles from Jiyong but he didn’t look over.  “I’m here, Rin,” he murmured, stretching his arm out along hers, covering her hand with his as he wrapped his fingers around it.  “Be here with me,” he pleaded, pressing his lips gently against her shoulder.  Had he not been pressed so close or been so focused on her, Jiyong might not have felt the slightest of tremors that shuddered over the stone.  “Huh?” he blinked, looking hard at the statue.  Another, stronger vibration hummed within.  “Chaerin?” Jiyong whispered, stepping around to get a better look at her face.

                “What’s wrong?” Seunghyun asked from the ground, his thick voice indicating he was very nearly sleeping.

                Jiyong jumped when he noticed the statue shiver after another knock from within.  “She’s trying to get out,” he exhaled, facial expression morphing between concern and joy.  “Seunghyun!  She’s there!” he exclaimed, laughing once as he saw another vibration, though nothing else was changing.

                “What?!” the sleepy man grumbled before sitting upright.

                “Come on,” Jiyong encouraged, pacing on the edge of the statue as he waited for something to happen.  After a long moment though, he realized the vibrations were diminishing again and he frowned.  “She can’t get out…” he trailed off, panic welling inside.  “Quick!  I need a weapon!” he shouted, scrambling around for anything.  His sword was lost and it was hard to see anything on the ground but in his haste, he kicked the warped longsword Seunghyun had been wielding.  “Ouch – hey!  Found one!” he yelped, yanking the pitiful weapon up and throwing himself back at the statue.

                “What the-!?” Seunghyun started to say before the sword hit the stone statue.  Metal vibrated discordantly and a thin crack appeared on the surface of the marble.  “Oh!  Do that again!” Seunghyun cried with wide eyes.

                “Let!  Her!  Go!” Jiyong yelled, ramming the warped blade against the marble with each word.  The crack on the surface spread further and further across her body, creating a latticework of spider webs that continued to branch out.  For a heartbeat, he paused to see if he needed to hit it again and pulled back, but a violent shudder from inside made him stop.

                Stone ground together and started flaking off in pieces, crumbling away to reveal pale skin and white clothes beneath.  One hand moved and bent back to claw at the stone around her face, peeling away the mask at last.  Chaerin gasped when her face was free, filling her lungs with breath after breath of air while stone continued to fall away.  When the supportive structure could no longer hold her weight, it crumpled and she fell with it.

                “Chaerin!” Jiyong cried, throwing himself forward so he could catch her before she hit the ground.  They both fell to their knees but Jiyong held them up with his arms wrapped hard around her, holding her tight like he might never let go.

                “Jiyong,” she whispered as she clung to his shoulders with all the weak strength she had.

                “Woohoo – ow!” Seunghyun cheered, jostling his arm when he was a little too enthusiastic.

                “I knew I hadn’t lost you,” he breathed into her hair, fingers splayed wide across her back to hold as much of her as he could.

                “Almost,” she murmured softly, pressing against his shoulder and hugging tighter.

                “Never,” he told her firmly, finally pulling back so he could see her face in the poor light.  Despite the shadows, she was radiant with beautiful brown eyes, sharp, delicate features, and wind blown hair.  “Amarath be damned.  You are my world,” he promised, cupping her face with his hand gently so he could cradle her cheek in his palm.

                “Ji,” Chaerin whimpered, sliding past his hand so she could kiss him, long and hard.

                Her lips were soft and sweet when Jiyong kissed her back.