She came through the door with a pop of bright light and, upon seeing the people scattered like pebbles far, far beneath her feet, nearly bit her tongue off. “Don’t scream! Don’t scream, don’t flail your legs, don’t— Just— Breathe. Breathe. Breathe,” she coached hysterically, just breathe, breathe, breathe breathe breathe keep your wings flat and cup the wind, don’t make any sudden movements, pretend you aren’t hurtling like a meteorite to your death and just float down, like a songbird—

Truthfully she’d expected another horrific crash, but Ultima, in the grasp of an adrenaline trance, kept her nerves steeled. The ground hurtled up towards her and she stretched her legs out to meet it, body tight with concentration; there was a splash as her feet crashed through the glassy water and, bouncing forward a yard or two with leftover momentum, she splayed her wings and came to a tidy halt at the very edge of the congregation. 

For several moments she could scarcely believe what had just happened. By all rights she should have been livid; aside from the crocodile’s hungry stare, the only reason she’d followed Whoever That Was into the portal was because she thought it’d take her back home. It had opened up just where she’d come out, she was sure of it, it couldn’t have been a coincidence— But the sensation of the wind in her face, the sight of the brilliant earth spread out before her— In all her life she had only ever heard stories of what flying was like, and after so many years of, “I cannot,” her brain found itself overwhelmed by the quiet proclamation of, “I can, I just did!” 

And then a voice, warm, half-honeyed, and all thought of flying was wiped from her mind like a slate. 

Even without being told, she knew that the figure at the front of the crowd was holy. His voice reverberated in her ears not unlike the Wild God’s had, a pleasant hum that stole the wear from her bones and her bruises, lit a little fire in her tired step. He might know where she was. He might know how to get back to the Wood. “Pardon,” she said absentmindedly, jostling for a better vantage point of this Bright God. ‘Helovia,’ she heard him say, and the word, unknown to her, rustled through the throng like a wave. Then: ‘ … My heat and light bled way the corruption of your Gods, and in doing so cleansed these lands.’

Her heart screamed like a kettle.

“All of them?” The little fire the Bright God had started winked out in a puff of smoke, and something had grabbed hold of her throat and was squeezing, squeezing. Was she breathing? Did she care? Pushing through the crowd now, pile-driving, the sweaty bodies, the unfamiliar smells of so many strangers, she could only think, could only ask again, her voice so small and reedy against the group’s collective drone, “All of them?” Damn the crocodile to Waking and all the other idols, too, but not hers— “Please,” Not hers— “Have you—” 

Couldn’t continue. She could only stare, waiting, trembling.

command me to be well.