The sound was muffled, ringing out from higher above our heads. Darius jerked to a stop, his hand folding upon my arm as if on instinct. He gaze snapped upward as the echo of the solitary scream resounded with the angled walls of the foyer. 

"That was Amoroth," he said, eyes narrowing to slits.

"Amoroth—?" 

Darius set off with me in tow. I managed to keep pace with the Sin, though I was breathless when we reached the landing outside Peroth's office. Darius threw open Sloth's door without knocking and rushed inside. I followed at a more sedate speed, wondering what we would discover.

Pride hadn't been wrong; Amoroth was, in fact, in the office with Peroth. The Sin of Lust was slumped in the middle of the floor as if she had collapsed and Sloth held her in his lap, soothing her tangled hair from her face as he spoke her name over and over again.

Clotted blood painted streaked trails upon her narrow chin and neck. The front of her blouse was torn, the white satin fabric soaked in red as it clung to her skin. Her left arm was mangled as if it'd been caught in an explosion. 

Darius stood by Peroth as Sloth stroked her slack cheek. Pride spoke in a quiet murmur as a chill stole through the manor's innate warmth. "Is she...?"

"No," Peroth softly replied. "She's simply exhausted. She pushed herself too far to reach the manor in time."

I exhaled, not realizing I had been holding my breath. The woman irritated me to no end and I swore I'd see her answer for selling us out to Balthier—but I didn't wish her dead. As hateful as she was, I didn't wish Amoroth dead.

"What happened?" Darius asked as he crouched. He lifted and turned Amoroth's destroyed hand to better inspect the damage. Judging by Peroth's scowl, the Sin had used too much force considering the grievous nature of her injury.

"She mentioned your brother and Balthazar before losing consciousness."

Pride froze. "She escaped them both?" Darius scoffed in disbelief.

Peroth took Amoroth's hand from Darius's grip, glowering as he did so. I hadn't had many interactions with the Sin of Sloth, but he was more cross than I could ever remember seeing him before. I didn't know if he was angry at Darius, angry at the situation, or both.

Amoroth hadn't given herself those injuries. Darius might have been skeptical, but I wasn't. How had she managed to escape both Sethan and Balthier?

"Darius, go to Gavin and tell him I need another patrol about the border. He won't be pleased, but tell him it is necessary."

Pride sucked air through his teeth as he rose to his full height. There was blood on his fingertips, but he brushed it off upon his jeans without thought. "As if the mutt could tell me no. Come, Sara. Let's go."

"No," came Peroth's sharp command. "Leave her. I need the assistance."

Darius's lips thinned as his fists tightened. The thought to argue crossed his mind in a visible flicker of doubt—but he seemed to reconsider as he stared at the two Sins on the floor. Amoroth was barely breathing. 

"Fine." Pride strode from the room, but lingered just long enough to direct a parting remark for my benefit. "We'll speak later, Sara."

The door swung shut with a clatter. Grim, I remained several paces from Peroth and Amoroth, unsure of why Sloth wanted me to stay behind. What could I possibly do to help? 

"That cabinet, there," Peroth said as if reading my mind. He nodded toward a slender built-in bordering his massive shelf of skulls. "On the low shelf you should find bandages. They may be old, but viable. Bring them to me." 

I did as I was told. As I opened the cabinet and ignored the leering faces of dead humans, Peroth crossed Amoroth's arms over her front and lifted her with ease. He settled her on the couch, pushing a pillow beneath her limp head to support its weight. He divested himself of his cufflinks and began rolling his sleeves as I returned. 

"I...didn't know you guys needed bandages," I said as I stood near Peroth. He kneeled by Amoroth and gestured for me to do the same.

"Neither Darius nor I do," he responded without care, not looking in my direction. "Amoroth is far younger than us. She takes much longer to heal. The bandages help."

Peroth took the roll of tape and gauze from my hands before he began peeling Amoroth's soaked sleeve from her ruined wrist. I averted my gaze, unnerved by the slash of white bone breeching the sobering crimson. 

"Needle and thread. Second drawer on the left side of my desk, Sara." 

I rose and retrieved what he needed. In this manner, I assisted the Sin as he swiftly worked to mend Amoroth's injuries. I marveled at his skill and at the assurance with which he moved his hands. He worked with an effortless grace and, though he was concentrating fully upon his task, Peroth managed to direct me around his office in search of the items he required.

When he finished cleaning and binding Amoroth's arm, the Sin unbuttoned her blouse just enough to expose the wounds on her chest.

There were five narrow but deep furrows situated above Amoroth's sternum. Her flesh was mottled by a sizeable bruise, the skin colored in shades of purple, black, red, and yellow. I studied the wounds, measuring their size and the impact such a terrible bruise necessitated. I came to a grim conclusion.

"One of them tried to rip out her heart," I muttered, unable to imagine the terror Amoroth must have experienced when the Sin got his fingers inside her chest. He had been moments away from ending her life. 

Peroth only nodded, cleaning the affected area with a damp cloth. His bright eyes held none of their typical expressiveness. The Sin worked without allowing a single emotion to break his calm façade. A fool could tell Peroth cared for Amoroth, and a fool could guess his fury at seeing her hurt.

"How did she escape?" 

He didn't answer. I wasn't certain the Sin had heard me.

Peroth laid his bloody hand upon Amoroth's chest and the woman's eyelids flickered with pain despite her stupor. He pushed upon the injury as I flinched and recoiled, watching as Amoroth paled.

"Peroth, what are you—?"

Darkness enveloped the Sin's hand in an abrupt cloud of obscurity. His energy stirred like a somnolent predator shaking sleep from his sleek body, raising its head above the rushes that had cloaked it from sight. My throat clenched with fear as the scent of crushed ivy and broken wood brought the memory of the senseless terror Peroth had thrust upon me.

Stars blinked to life within the nebula of creeping darkness. They shivered with contained power, gleaming in shades of red, gold, and ultraviolet. One by one, the tiny clusters of the Sin's soul energy spiraled downward and sunk into Amoroth's skin, leaving behind smudges of soot as big as a thumbprint.

Shadows like ink riding an undertow swirled beneath the Sin's lambent flesh.

I had seen him do this before, in the hall where the gate to the Vale lay hidden. Afterwards, Darius had explained that the small bursts of light were actually accumulated clusters of energy forced outside of a Sin's body. Peroth was sharing his power with Amoroth.

Sloth removed his hand as the last of the flickering stars was consumed. The younger Sin's chest was still bloody and bruised, but the five wounds inflicted by either Sethan or Balthier had shriveled into puckered pink scars. In time, I knew those would disappear as well.

Peroth wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, blowing air between his pursed lips. "Well, then," he sighed, perceptibly more relaxed. "That should do for now. She'll be fine. I, on the other hand, could use a drink."

The Sin stood and complained about his stiff back as he ventured to the sideboard positioned in the shadow of the overhanging balcony. His raven was perched up there, watching us below with its uncanny scrutiny. When Peroth passed by, it let out a raucous caw that the Sin brushed away.

"Not in the mood, W'arg."

Ice clinked as it tumbled into a glass and the astringent odor of gin rose above the glug of a bottle being poured. I adjusted Amoroth's bound arm so it lay in a more natural position across her abdomen. Her breathing had been weak and thready when Peroth had laid her upon the sofa, but it had grown thicker and deeper as true sleep overcame the Sin's pained delirium. Amoroth—rude, elegant, mean to the bone Amoroth—was snoring.

The guilt I felt roiling in my middle at seeing Amoroth hurt by Balthier's machinations was perplexing. I shouldn't have felt guilty. It wasn't my fault Amoroth had run afoul Envy and Sethan. If anything, it was her own fault for being such an insufferable woman and trying to barter our lives for her own. My grandmother used to say "Qui sème le vent récolte la tempête." He who sows the wind reaps the storm.

If anyone was due retribution for their past actions, it was Amoroth.

But...why did I feel so guilty?

Annoyed, I lifted the woman's other arm so it wouldn't hang off the couch—but paused when I felt the familiar bulge of bandages against my fingers. Curious, I tugged Amoroth's sleeve down, revealing a layer of fresh white bandages on her wrist and forearm.

I had caught a glimpse of the bandages before when she and Darius had fought in this very office. Why was she still wearing them?

I felt Peroth come nearer and started to lower Amoroth's arm, when he reached past me to rip the exposed bandage free.

Beneath the clean gauze was a series of thin scabs. I stared at the scratches with confusion and disbelief.

"I...I did that." The shallow cuts had been inflicted by my nails when Amoroth had thrown me off her roof in Verweald. In an attempt to hold on, I had dug my fingers into her wrist and had scoured her skin raw. "But shouldn't this have healed instantly? They were only scratches."

Peroth tapped my shoulder and I moved aside, allowing the older Sin to take my place. He situated Amoroth's arm with the other, then covered her with a fuzzy blanket that had been tossed over the sofa's back. The Sin of Lust continued to snore, unperturbed.

"It is because you're shadeborn." He offered me a gin and tonic without asking. I scrambled to catch the crystal glass before it could slip through my fingers as the Sin moved away without explanation.

Shadeborn. I had heard the word several times now, flitting about the mouths of the Sins and the Dreaming and the monster who liked to haunt my dreams on occasion. I had asked what it meant and had yet to receive a proper answer.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me what that means, would you?"

Peroth was nearing his desk when I spoke. He paused, casting a look over his shoulder I couldn't quite decipher. The set of his mouth and the flash of his gilded eyes suggested envy—but that couldn't be right.

"He hasn't told you, then?"

I shook my head as I held the cool glass between my hands, pressing my fingertips upon the edge until they were white and bloodless.

Peroth hummed and sauntered on. The raven silently swooped from its perch and landed upon the Sin's shoulder, ruffling its glossy plumage. "He must be embarrassed. That's why he hasn't explained yet. Being the Sin of Pride and having a shadeborn are contradictory in nature—but, personally, I believe he has every right to be proud of what he's accomplished. I am...envious of what he has been given."

I approached the desk as Peroth sank into his chair, my breath held and my fingers so tight upon the glass I was sure it would break. The Sin's head was canted at an angle as he scrutinized my posture and the fierce slant of my brow. Part of his face was caught in the balcony's shadow, but his grin was unmissable.

"W'arg," he said, prodding the raven on its beak. "Retrieve me that small figure there." He gestured at one of his cluttered shelves and the bird hopped off his arm with an indignant caw. "Have a seat, Sara. I will enlighten you."

Eager, I did as I was bid, dragging a rickety, straight-backed chair from across the room to the Sin's desk. As W'arg returned with a porcelain figurine about the size of my hand clutched in its black talons, I set my glass upon a proffered coaster. Peroth accepted the statuette and carefully positioned it in the middle of his desk blotter. I recognized it as an angel.

"Behold! The Absolian," Peroth said with a measure of showmanship, brandishing his fingers above the crude figurine's carved head. "The great Absolian. Child of the High King, the pinnacle of society. A winged harridan without equal."

Before my eyes, the Sin brought his fist down and broke the Absolian into a hundred pieces. I jumped when the blow struck the desk and W'arg flared its wings from its viewing spot, screeching.

Amoroth was stirred by the noise. She grumbled something about "treacle tart" in her sleep before her snoring resumed.

Peroth cleared his throat, abashed by his own antics. "And here now on my desk we have a broken Absolian. Conceivably, it is an Absolian tossed from the cliffs of Absolia, one that landed in the Pit and shattered its very soul into pieces." He swept the strewn bits into a smaller pile as he spoke, gathering all the remnants into a single lump. "Are you following me so far?"

"Yes."

Peroth nodded as he fussed with the fragments and tried to fit them back together. "The Baal, the only Absolian to survive the fall, set out to revive some of his fallen brethren and comrades. He gathered the pieces of their souls together, netting their fading energies and essences. Not an easy process, mind you. It took him years to see any results whatsoever—but when the Baal finished, he had this...."

He removed his hands again to reveal a partially reconstructed figurine. The wings were gone and the once proud creature was crooked and lopsided, but it held a definite form.

"A Sin," I said, my eyes raising from the angel to find Peroth studying me, expectant.

"Yes. A Sin. The Baal tried to revive an Absolian from the wreckage of an Absolian and discovered us. His success, and yet his failure. Once broken, you can never truly be whole again. He should have known that...he should have told us."

The dark nature of his thoughts was reflected in the brusque tone of his voice, but Peroth shook himself from his melancholy and continued. "Anyway...here we have a Sin, and here—." I prodded one of the slivers on the blotter he hadn't been able to replace. "Here we have a Fractus, a lesser demon, born of the miscellaneous bits of soul that remained after the Baal rose us seven Sins. I assume you know about the Fractus?"

"A bit," I admitted. "Not much."

"That's alright. They're not important to this explanation." Peroth swept aside the useless shards, leaving only his tipsy Sin statuette behind. "All we need is our Sin. Now, here we have a creature reminiscent of its prior form. Its soul—." He traced his finger around the figurine. "—is broken, yes, but those ill-fitting bits are still quite powerful. We heal quickly. We have abilities unknown to mortals, innate magics and theurgies. We can adapt, grow, learn."

I tipped my chin in assent to show I was still understanding.

"Now...imagine, if you will, a woman."

Frowning at the apparent tangent, I leaned upon my arm as I blinked at the figure. "A woman?"

"Yes, a woman. A woman a certain Sin wishes to make his host—but that woman has been injured. Terribly injured. She won't survive the night. Though the Sin does what he can to stitch shut the wound and bind her injuries, she won't live. She steadily encroaches upon her final midnight as her Sin waits and wait for her to recover.

"She could live, if only she had a portion of that Sin's healing ability. If only she could make it through the night."

Slowly, very slowly, I removed my gaze from the faux-Sin to stare into Peroth's golden eyes.

He smiled as the words continued to fall from his lips in an inevitable stream. "So that Sin made a rash and ridiculous decision we'd been warned not to undertake; he decided to remove a tiny piece of his precarious soul—." Peroth pinched a slender shard from the angel's side and drew it out. The whole thing wobbled but didn't fall. "—and give it to his host."

The Sin stretched over his desk to grab my wrist, pulling my hand nearer his own. Peroth dropped the porcelain sliver in my palm.

"In doing so, that woman became a shadeborn."

The white of the porcelain contrasted with the residual red blood from Amoroth coating my skin. It was so small it could be lost in a single breath.

My heart was beating unnaturally fast. "I...."

Peroth gently curled my fingers inward, protecting the piece from my stuttering breath. "Yes, Sara. You literally hold a fragment of Darius's soul within yours. You are shadeborn."

I returned my fist to my lap when Peroth released me, but I didn't toss the piece aside. "But I...I don't understand what it means...."

Sloth's shoulders rose and fell. "If you want my honest response, I don't completely understand it either. I've never seen a successful shadeborn before, and thus haven't the faintest idea what being shadeborn fully entails."

"What do you mean by successful?" I demanded.

"Exactly what I mean," the Sin rejoined as he resituated himself in his seat. "Those of us who attempt to create a shadeborn often fail. Our souls are very precariously put together. One wrong tug upon it...." Peroth pulled out another piece from his broken Absolian and it tumbled into a pile of debris. "And poof! We devolve into bits of Fractus. We lose our minds and our identity.

"Those of us who don't devolve often destroy our shadeborn. We have no control over the bit of us we give to the shadeborn, you see. Once it leaves our soul we, supposedly, lose connection to it. Our souls are not compatible with a human's. It can break their mind or their body, creating amalgamations and monstrosities beyond compare. We've also had the odd case of possession, in which our consciousness is split between our own body and the body of our shadeborn."

My amounting anxiety must have been clear, because Peroth started to laugh. "Relax, girl. These are all examples of failures. You're not a failure. You're a success. Darius' soul doesn't fight for dominance, doesn't vie for consciousness or subvert your mind. It acts in its intended fashion."

He pointed toward my wounded side and I instantly lowered my arm to conceal it. "That wound should have killed you the night it was inflicted and every night hence. Darius' soul—his shade—provides just enough energy and support for your body to regenerate and continue. It acts to protect you."

I opened my hand again to peer at the porcelain shard. Darius had given me part of his soul to...protect me? From everything Peroth was stating, Darius had done so the night he had found me on the warehouse floor, bleeding out and vaguely conscious.

Why, though? Why would the Sin of Pride take such a risk for a mortal girl like me?

"There are unintended side effects, however," Peroth ruminated as he laced his fingers together and leaned back in his comfortable chair. W'arg cawed and flew to the chair's back, its long talons leaving dents in the leather. "Such as my poor Amor's arm. Somehow, instead of Darius' shade using you, you used it and inflicted an injury dosed with a heavy concentration of liminal magic on her. Though the wounds are shallow, they've taken quite a while to heal."

Peroth started to laugh again, an amused gleam growing in his eyes. "My, she was splendid in her fury when she came and first told me about you."

I hadn't looked up from my hand—the same hand I had scratched Amoroth with.

What did I do? What in the hell am I?

Uncertain, I closed my fist again and breathed. I wasn't typically an advocate for ignorance, but perhaps this was information I shouldn't have asked for. I wasn't sure what to do with it, and my mind was bogged down because of what Peroth way saying. "You said Darius was embarrassed. Is he embarrassed of me?"

"Naturally." The Sin nodded and W'arg copied the gesture, crooning emphatically. "He's the Sin of Pride, girl. The Sin of Pride surrendered a piece of his own soul to a mortal waif to save her life. Naturally he is embarrassed by humbling himself in such a manner. He risked utter degradation for you. I cannot understand what desperation drove him to do so."

Peroth balanced his elbows upon the desk's lip and placed his chin in the slope of his laced fingers. His scrutiny was harsh with its severity. "You may be offended by what I say. I give you leave to be so, but answer me this; why would Darius, who has lived for millions of years, who has survived plagues, famine, wars, his brethren, and our dark Father, gamble his life in a feeble bid for you to keep yours?"

A cold sensation crept upon my spine as Peroth's voice fell upon my ears.

I couldn't answer. I didn't know. God, I honestly didn't know. Darius would do anything in the name of survival, and yet he did something so stupid—so dangerous! Why would he do such a thing? What had driven Darius to such an extreme?

I didn't know.

I didn't understand. I didn't understand Darius at all.