The mechanized caricature of a fighting man lay burning on the ground. Imposing as it was, it offered no defense from Euphemia's beams. The threat was gone, only to be replaced by this young man's imminent death in his attempt to divert the machine's attention.

  She looked at him; the wounds were deep, and nothing was stopping blood from coming out of where those hateful claws stabbed him. Euphemia took out a small roll of bandages from her waist pocket and worked on stopping more blood from pouring out. Though tall, he was light enough for the cleric to put him on his side. Euphemia approached the children: all three of them were safe from harm, though they did not dare move even after seeing the destruction of the ironclad assaulters. She asked them:

  "Can you go to the church?"

  There was no answer; the boys and a girl only nodded.

  "Go. Now. Tell the priest and the others that Sister Euphemia needs their help."

  They all stood up, looking at the flaming remains of their assailants, staring at the canoness' face that gave off half an orange glow in the fires, and at the dark halls beyond. They froze in place momentarily, as if making sure there was nothing or no one else coming. Euphemia saw the smaller of the boys look at her and his two fellows. It felt like he didn't want to leave. The cleric patted his hair, smiled, and nodded. His hand touched hers, small and trembling, but his smile grew. Then he ran to catch up with the others. Euphemia took a deep breath.

  "I cannot let this stranger perish... The cart. Yes, that might suffice."

  It was a small wagon. Four wheels and a flat bed: perfect for what she had in mind. Euphemia willed four of her artifact's spheres to wrap the boy in a field of white, slowly lifting him off the ground and moving him onto the wheeled container. She tugged the contraption forward. Best to keep the spheres active-he might fall off otherwise.

  Euphemia yanked the unconscious body out of the scene of battle, far beyond the burning wrecks of the murder machines that tried to kill them. It was an easier task using the wheelbarrow, but even then, her strength wasn't enough to make it move beyond a meter and a half a minute.

  ????

  Altrecht's church transformed into an infirmary overnight.

  Many of the pews in the nave were put aside to make way for the people who ran and sought refuge from the violence. Initially hesitant, like the priest and other workers, they had to give up some of the space, even as far as a few steps before the altar. Many people found their way inside without injury, though some were unfortunate. Thick blankets had to make do as mattresses for the wounded, once much of the bedding meant for pilgrims was used up. The scent of ash and propellant began to subside on some of the people, and so did the pained groans from some who were hurt while they fled from the gunfight.

  Euphemia frowned at her dwindling supply of bandages. There was only so much she carried; her 'ample' supply of two dozen rolls was swiftly reduced to two. She did her part, minimizing injuries, much to the worry and vexation of Father Erich: the bludgeon-wielding clergyman who welcomed her into the town. He was relieved to see her return from the incident unharmed, though his face was far from happy upon knowing that this stranger from Alberta brought along two dozen townsfolk.

  She looked at the lone bottle of disinfectant inside her bag. The parish had a few to spare, yet she had to use hers in a hurry. While these were of little consequence to an Adorer of Radiant Hope, Euphemia did not like the idea of not having them around when her ability was too much to use on less dire situations. At least, her few bottles of medicine remained somewhat untouched.

  She went to the sector where the wounded and the dying were gathered. The folding beds did their part in easing their situation, though their few numbers meant more capable people had to lie on the floor. This was a quieter section of the church, where most people were either sound asleep. Some of the attendants came to this place only to steal a little rest under the green crystal lamps, which were gathered at where the grievously wounded ones lay.

  Euphemia noticed some of the lamps losing their light. She requested the green-lantern spheres be placed closer to those who were severely injured; magic coursed better near flesh, especially under strain. With everything that was going on in the church, the parish workers gave her a dozen small lamps to work with.

  "Truly a boon to know that I still remember this simple trick from the Meister's classes."

  Euphemia couldn't help but smile, though nobody was with her in tending to this group of wounded. The canoness approached the lamps; a touch from her caused the crystals to glow brighter than before. She hoped that few people would frequent this place when the light was at its strongest. There was no guarantee that the brilliant field spared seemingly healthy individuals, but that was not the case, even as others fell asleep around their recuperating loved ones. She looked at some of the patients; not a stir was heard from any of them.

  Then there he was: that boy who threw himself into harm's way to fight those killing mechanisms. He no longer smelled of blood after needing to replace three sets of bandages; nothing but a small dark patch lay on the spot where the wounds were. Euphemia decided to keep his pistols away from everyone's eyes. It was bad enough that the dreadful event displaced many of the townsfolk from their homes. It would be worse if anyone found out that she brought a gunfighter, or even a possible syndicate member, to this sanctuary.

  She placed an open palm on his chin and forehead: no fever. Her ability, even when it was projected from the green lanterns placed beside patients, showed its potency. The boy's pulse was still weak, but he was on his way to recovery.

  "Thank you for saving them and helping me. I do not know what caused your change of heart, but I shall honor your efforts by making sure you live."

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  Her attention went away from the boy when she heard a voice speaking from behind. It was the parish priest, whose voice was a little hoarser than it had been before.

  "We're thankful that an Adorer has come at a time like this, but even you have to take a rest." He went to where Euphemia stood, offering her a bowl of soup. "You haven't eaten yet. Take this."

  "Thank you, Father Erich." Euphemia took the bowl. She silently drained it of its contents and then took bits of the potato chunk into her mouth. "I haven't eaten well the entire night. My apologies for my less refined display."

  "You're good. You're doing well, Sister Euphemia. I take these people are feeling better?"

  "I have only stopped them from showing pain, but I wish to believe the Creator will help us through the night."

  "I can take over in your stead." Father Erich stretched and yawned; the light must be extending its effects on him, too. "We'd be asking too much if we let you take care of things here for a whole night."

  "I am thankful for your willingness, but it is for the best if I stay here with the wounded."

  "Then you won't object to us helping you." The priest pulled up a chair and sat down. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I can rest a little before taking over your duties here."

  His eyes couldn't lie, falling asleep at the first chance. Euphemia sat down; her eyes shifted from one side of the makeshift ward to the next. She forgot to ask if there was any news of the Empire taking action, but that would have to wait until the morning after.

  ????

  Darkness.

  The boy was weightless; his body could not even move a finger inside the void. Nothing to see, nothing to feel. Was this the feeling of death? Would this mean that he was destined to be swallowed by the dark when the last traces of his consciousness were extinguished? He did not know what lay ahead of him, but he seemed to be too tired to care.

  He felt sorry for himself for being unable to unlock what had been sealed away from him for so long, for discovering new abilities, and yet he threw his life away in the face of danger, leaving behind somebody who could have been a great friend. He remained afloat, waiting for the moment when everything would be over.

  "Do you ever give up this easily?"

  It was a girl's voice: clear, somewhat high-pitched, probably that of a child. The first vein of green light appeared a little above him. It ran in jagged lines, splitting and weaving until a web was formed and shattered the darkness. More of the cracks ran, gradually eating away at the void until the boy could see a space occupied by brightness.

  A swirl of seven colors appeared in front of him, spinning in such rapidity that it was becoming larger with every eyeblink. It exploded in a flash of rainbows; its remains faded to reveal a little girl clad in a glimmering dress of the spectrum. Her little features were covered in the bright and moving shades; all he could see in her was the unnatural glow of her skin and a pair of emerald eyes that eagerly looked back at him.

  "So this is what Death looks like. Are you here to take me?"

  "I guess you've accepted that fate, huh?" the girl frowned at him. "Of course not, and I don't know what Death looks like either."

  "Then you must be a dream."

  "Maybe, maybe not. I am like the 'voices' you heard during your battle with the metal men, but I chose not to talk, like the rest. I didn't think you were ready to hear me."

  "The... rest? I don't get it."

  "That Man must've gotten your head in a bad shape then... this is harder than I thought."

  "What are you talking about? What kind of dream are you?"

  "You'll know what I'm talking about at the right time, but this is too much for you if I go about it now."

  "I don't get any of this!" The boy saw his hands at last. He stared at them, and then his gaze shifted to the girl in front of him. "What is this place? Who are you, or better yet, what are you?"

  "There's no way around this, I guess, so are you going to believe me when I answer you?"

  "Uh..."

  "For starters, this place is you." The girl did not wait for his reply and went ahead. "You won't see your innards and bones here, but you are inside your mind."

  "It's green?"

  "Not really," was the short answer. "This is the effect of what that stranger you were closely following. That woman... she's a surprising one. She can do more than cook a wonderful stew."

  "Her? You mean that serving lady? This must be that light I saw at that harbor city."

  "You're right, it's like what we have seen in the city. We were about to tell you that, but we figured you need to solve some things on your own." She said, "Nothing to be alarmed at or anything, but this green place is the effect of a healing art - a very powerful one."

  The boy drifted through the green-lit space, legs afloat with no air beneath him. This girl could have been right about him being inside his mind after all.

  "Healing art?"

  "Did you remember seeing her for the first time? You sensed magic in her. This is one of those things she does with her magic."

  "Then I'm not dead, and you're not Death." Something struck odd with him, and then he asked, "How did you know that I've seen her before?"

  "We are part of you. We see through your eyes, sometimes... and we know what you think."

  "Wait a moment. If I can't open my eyes now, then how do you know it's the church lady who is doing this?"

  She laughed, a giggle that echoed and dissolved in the realm of his mind. "We have our ways of seeing that you don't have. It's hard to explain, but it just is."

  "Will you disappear if I think about it? Like, think real hard."

  "No. We stay with you; we are one with you."

  "I still don't understand." The boy closed his eyes and shook his head. "You keep saying 'we', but where are the others?"

  "They chose not to show up to you. They're disappointed with the life you've almost thrown away." The girl smiled at him. "Don't worry, they'll get over it and let you see them someday."

  "Okay... who are you then?"

  "I'm Metis." She waved at him; her smile shrank in modesty.

  "I don't know if I should believe you, but if that churchwoman is keeping me alive, I owe her one." He looked at the vast expanse of the space; nothing to see but the perpetual changes in the swathes of a melding prism. "Why is she doing all this for me? I don't think I'm meant for second chances."

  "Let's just make use of this time to rest. I'm sure this woman there is doing all she can to keep you, I mean, us, alive. Maybe you can thank her by being a friend."