Sekrite stood up, tears still flowing down her cheeks, Dragon Tongue still clutched in her arms, Art's red blood still on the blade. She took steady, deep breaths, eyes closed. The voice hadn't spoken to her, because it too was in mourning. Sekrite felt guilty, and horror at herself. She had killed her friend, and many others who were probably innocent. Her shoulders shook, but a comforting arm took her and held her tight, patting her back gently as she wept into Nicolaus' shoulder.

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