At first, she thought her parents were having a late-night sparring match.

However the longer Alisa listened it wasn't wood against wood, but steel against steel mingling with the occasional yell or groan. And when she finally got out of bed to look out her window, the sparring ring was dark and unused.

Booted footsteps clambered out in the hall, and the door to her bedroom flung open without permission or request.

"Alisa, get in your brother's room. Now," her father ordered, and Alisa knew the tone well enough to obey.

"What's happening?" she asked as she followed, pulling on a pair of leggings as they moved down the hall to where Chey stood outside of her brother's room with an equally confused Bren lingering in the doorway.

"Questions later," her father insisted, leading her into the room. "This door remains shut until we open it, do you understand?"

"Where's Mother?" Bren asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

"She's fine," Chey said, and Alisa wanted to believe him.

Her father only nodded in agreement before closing the door tight, and she heard their two sets of feet stomping down the stairs towards the front door of the house.

Glancing at her brother, he appeared to have the same idea, and both rushed towards his bedroom window, which had a better view of the front of the estate.

The front law was aglow with torchlight, and at first, Alisa thought they had visitors, that a group perhaps from Northwich had traveled in the evening for one reason or another. Upon closer inspection, however, she quickly discovered they weren't human visitors at all.

Standing in a broken semicircle were at least ten demons, their harsh features shadowed in the torchlight. Three similar bodies were already strewn across the feet of her mother, who was standing before them in her fighting leathers with a blade in her hand. She watched as her father joined Azima on the lawn, remaining a step behind while the Venandi confronted those who dared encroach upon her private property.

"The time has come, Azima Rousseau. You are required to finish that which you have started."

"Not one step closer." Her mother raised her sword to emphasize her point. In the dim light, Alisa could see the dark, dripping blood on its edge.

"You left the Seventh Level without its Prince. A price has been paid. A debt is owed."

"I owe you nothing," her mother hissed. "Not you. Not anyone beyond that damn Rift."

"You need to finish what he started."

"And you need to go back to Hell."

With a scream, her mother charged into the horde with her father on her heels. Alisa held her breath as she watched the two of them fight not alongside each other, but together. Like they were partners in a dance of death, and the attacking demons dared interrupt their interlude.

Chey, too, had joined the fray, as if he was waiting on the outskirts to allow Azima the time to deal with them as she needed to, but the moment her blade was raised it was a free-for-all. Though older, Alisa never denied Chey could hold his own. She had watched him spar enough with her mother to know he was more than adept with a sword.

"We have to help them," Alisa whispered to her brother, though her attention remained focused out the window.

"There's nothing we can do!" Her brother's voice was panicked. "Father told us to stay here—"

A sudden searing pain slashed across Alisa's right shoulder, the agony bringing tears to her eyes as blood started pouring from a deep, sourceless wound.

"Alisa!" Bren yelled as the unexpected affliction knocked her on her ass. Her vision blurred as she saw the white material of her cotton shirt become a sopping red mess. The sounds of the fighting outside the window dulled as the pounding in her head increased.

"Alisa!" her brother yelled again, this time moving to her, gathering her in his slender arms as she closed her eyes against the torment.

"Bren." Her voice was hoarse like she had been screaming. The pain in her arm wasn't stopping, the pouring blood not ceasing. It was as if years of pent-up suffering were seeping out of her, through her and she was struggling to remain conscious.

"Stay with me, Alisa," Bren pleaded, holding her close, but every touch sent a spasm of hurt straight through to her heart, spreading through every bone of her body.

She tried to call out to her brother, to assure him she wasn't going anywhere, but the words were caught in her throat.

"Don't leave me," he whispered, his voice racked with emotion, cracking with a youthful panic. "Don't go..."

An unexpected glow of light had her clenching her already closed eyes tighter. Behind her lids, it grew brighter and warmer, and the blinding whiteness softened into a subtle blue as the pain began to subside to a soothing heat. Slowly, Alisa opened her eyes to see her brother huddled above her. His own eyes were closed, but brow furrowed in what looked to be concentration, and the warm blue light... it was coming from him.

"Bren?" she breathed, and the moment she spoke he opened his eyes, the soft blue light dissipating.

"What...?"

Both Alisa and Bren turned to the bedroom door, now wide open, and in the doorway stood their father, face smudged with dirt and blood with eyes wide as he surveyed the scene before him.

"Alisa was hurt. I tried to help her," Bren stumbled over his words. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Chey said softly as he approached the doorway, looking no better than her father as he assessed Bren.

Alisa's heart dropped into her stomach. If he had broken some Parish rule and was going to be in trouble for it... 

"This was my fault," she said trying to move and stand from her brother's grasp, gritting her teeth against the tenderness that remained in her injured arm. "If I didn't get hurt, he wouldn't have—"

"You didn't get hurt," Chey frowned. "Your mother did."

Alisa blinked. "But—" She looked down to her sleeve, still red with slowly drying blood though the wound had since been sealed and stopped bleeding.

"And Bren isn't in trouble, but he's now a ward of the Parish."

Alisa looked between Chey and her father, who now stood there, frowning. "Why?"

"Because, Alisa..." Her father sighed. "It seems your brother is a Cleric."

The bodies of the demons that dared step food on their orchard estate were burning in a pile within the sparring ring— Alisa could see the flames through the sitting room window, rising toward the dark sky like begging hands clutching for an offering. After everyone had a chance to clean up and change, the five of them now sat, glancing at one another with faces drawn. Waiting for someone to speak but no one knew how to find the words. Alisa had changed out of her bloodied shirt but couldn't stop watching her mother who held her own right shoulder, a bandage wrapped around the same spot where Alisa had been cut. The exact same spot. Just like the scar on her left forearm...

"The law of the Parish holds, and Bren will need to return with me once the sun rises," Chey said, breaking the tense silence. "Even I can't deny what was seen, and pretending he doesn't exist would be treason to my own position."

Both of her parents remained silent.

Chey turned in his seat to face Bren, who was sitting on the couch next to her. "Bren, you are a Cleric. The ability for you to have healed your sister as you did... it is a rare gift. And a gift best learned and trained with the Master Clerics in the Parish."

"But... I don't want to go to the Parish." Bren's protest was meek, even for him. She could still see some of her blood on his hands.

"I'm sorry Bren," Chey said softly, though stern. "In this, you do not get a choice."

"And what about my choice?" Alisa inquired, looking at her parents. Her mother. "Why did I get hurt?"

Her father moved to speak, but her mother placed a hand on his arm, silencing him as she looked at her daughter. "You were hurt because I was hurt. You were hurt because I lost my concentration, and was unable to protect you. It is my fault, and I am sorry."

"I don't understand." Alisa shook her head. "You were outside fighting demons. I saw you. How did that affect me in here?"

Her mother swallowed. "Because, Alisa... you and I are connected deeper than we should be, and..."

"Azima," her father whispered.

But her mother just shook her head. "I just thought I had more time..."

"Time for what?" Alisa pushed, looking to the others in the room. "What is happening to me?"

"Nothing is happening to you," her mother said, defensive.

"But it may be happening because of her," Chey interjected.

Azima cast him a harsh glare but he continued. "You and I both know she'll be much safer in the Parish, surrounded by seasoned Venandi and Imerai as well as the other training Initiates. And it will finally give her the chance to be able to learn how to properly protect herself... without you."

Her mother frowned and turned her attention to her father. "You agree with this?"

"It's been taking a toll on you," her father admitted, brushing a strand of golden-brown hair out of her mother's face and placing it behind her ear. "And if Alisa goes with them, I know you'll feel better knowing that Bren will have someone there with him in the Parish. I know I will."

Alisa watched as her mother bit at her bottom lip as if contemplating just how much she was willing to fight to keep her children close to her. Her dark ember-flecked gaze assessed each of them before she closed her eyes.

"It's late. You both should go back to bed." Azima let out a shuddering breath before speaking again. "You'll need to get up early to pack if you're to leave with Chey by sunrise."