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"What I want to know is if you still have command of your Holy Flames..."

Nyrielle’s words pierced directly to Ingatious’s heart, inflicting a wound he had long thought he’d become numb to.

Once, his flames had been his greatest pride, or perhaps, they had been the fuel for his unbridled arrogance.

Of all the Inquisitors summoned to fight beside the Lothians in the War of Undying Demons, he had stood in the Church’s vanguard, bathing the land in cleansing flames and leaving nothing but sacred, purified ash in his wake.

At the time, he’d felt that he was destined to join the ranks of the Exemplars at the end of the campaign.

The war was a crucible for him in which he tempered his faith against the greatest threat humans had faced since the end of the second crusade.

Deep in his heart, he felt that he was answering his calling and that the Holy Lord of Light himself had placed him on a path to unparalleled glory.

All of that ended the night he captured one of Nyrielle’s progeny.

He didn’t understand at the time how great of a transgression he committed.

Day after day, he worked with white hot irons, screws, lashes and even pure holy flame as he tore secrets from the lips of his captive.

In the end, the poor demon begged him for salvation, to be released from their dark pact with the Demon Lady of the Vale so they could walk under the sun again.

That moment felt like his greatest triumph until the doors of church shattered like kindling and the dark, winged figure of a demonic executioner stormed into his temple.

In that moment, when he stared into her midnight eyes and darkness enveloped him, all of his pride felt meaningless.

His accomplishments were worthless. None of the secrets he’d learned in the days of torture seemed to matter. Nothing mattered...

It would have been a kindness if Nyrielle had ended his life that night.

Certainly, in the last moments of his life, he failed to meet his struggle.

When confronted by the most terrifying demoness known to mankind, he had faltered, as helpless as a babe before her shadowy ax.

And yet, she denied him a merciful death.

There would be no opportunity to present his achievements to the Holy Lord of Light.

He would not be judged and his merits would not be weighed.

Perhaps he could have entered his next life as a nobleman or, if his merits had truly been great, one of the royal families in the old countries.

He had served with all his heart and given everything to the Holy Lord of Light.

.. if he could not reach the Heavenly shores, surely he had still earned some reward.

Instead, Nyrielle inflicted the greatest cruelty on him that he could imagine. That night, she granted a merciful death to her progeny and condemned him to take their place.

Sighing heavily, Ignatious raised his hand and closed his eyes as he attempted to recall the way he’d felt, all those years ago, when he unleashed the wrath of the Holy Lord of Light on all the enemies of his church.

The righteous confidence, the arrogance and inherent sense of justice he felt every time he reduced a sinner, heretic or demon to little more than ash.

When he opened his eyes, the dimmest embers of his former zeal could be seen in the dark depths of his gaze as words of power tumbled from his lips.

"Lord of Light, thy flames descend,

Let sinners meet their burning end."

In his hand, a brilliant ball of golden flame sparked into being. The ball of flame was small by his former standards, no larger than an apple or pomegranate, and the edges of the flame flickered with a deep, dull red of wavering intensity.

The light from his ball of flame banished shadows across half the room and light from the ball of flame cast no shadows of its own.

More than just a source of illumination, the light Ignatious held in his hand was the antithesis of darkness.

Only Nyrielle and the furniture in the room behind her still cast shadows when Ignatious held up his ball of Holy Flame.

"The Holy Lord of Light has not forsaken me in this land of darkness, Mistress Nyrielle," he said as he held the ball of flame aloft.

"But, I am not the man I once was. I still believe and perhaps, one day, a fallen sinner like me may still reach the Heavenly Shores, but that day is farther away than I can imagine. "

"It would be a waste for someone like you to pass from the world too soon," Nyrielle said as she stared at his flickering flame in wonder. "You are not burned by your own flames? Does conjuring them bring you pain," she asked.

"I’ve never been harmed by my own flames," the former Inquisitor said with a heavy sigh.

"Even when I attempted to light myself ablaze, to bring my existence to a worthy end, my flesh would not burn though my robes were reduced to ash.

I believe that the Holy Lord of Light may still have some purpose for me, but what it is, I cannot begin to imagine," he said, waving his hand and banishing the flickering ball of flame.

"You have changed greatly, Ignatious," Nyrielle said as she stared at the man she’d kept at arms length or further for decades.

"The man I exiled would have hurled that ball of flame at me, just to see if there was the slightest chance that he could die together with the woman who cursed him to this unending existence. "

Of course, time had changed things for her as well.

There had been a time when she couldn’t look upon his handsome face without seeing the horrific wounds he’d inflicted on one of her champions.

There had been a time when she wanted nothing more than to sink her claws into his handsome visage and tear it away until he appeared as hideous to the outside world as he did to her on the night they met.

Time, it seemed, had worn away at both of their hurts, leaving only the bond of blood that tied them together and distant memories that both of them had worked hard to leave buried deep within their hearts.

"It wasn’t easy," the former Inquisitor admitted.

"The Mother of Thorns gave me perspective that I lacked.

The years I spent as her... research subject, they brought many revelations that helped me to reexamine my faith.

I was reluctant to admit it, but there is a difference between my faith and the Church that preaches it. "

"So, you have kept your faith but turned your back on your Church?" Nyrielle asked with a raised brow. If that was the case, then bringing him back to the Vale of Mists might be even more important than she had originally imagined.

She and Ashlynn had discussed the power of the Church many times, and Nyrielle had all but given up on breaking humans free of their faith, but if Ignatious had succeeded in separating his faith from his Church... perhaps he had found a path that could be shared.

War, after all, wasn’t only a contest to determine who had the greater strength of arms. Sometimes, the reasons that an army fought were just as important as the weapons and armor they fought with.

When she took him as one of her progeny, she had never had much hope of controlling or commanding him.

At the time, she’d only wanted him to suffer.

But now, perhaps enough time had passed that they could reexamine their relationship.

"I think that the Church has lost its way," Ignatious said, a hint of the flames of old sparking to life in his dark eyes. "They have become distracted by the powers and politics of this world and ceased to strive toward the Heavenly Shores, acting as if they have all but arrived."

"In this, they are the greatest sinners because if they falter at their final step, they can never lead anyone to the Heavenly Shores," he said, his deep voice regaining a passion he’d thought was long lost.

"Sinners like those can only lead people astray," he said, as though he was issuing a proclamation from the pulpit. "And those sinners deserve to burn."