Author’s note:
Before we begin, I must warn you that this chapter depicts life-threatening childhood illness with visceral intensity.
It’s also quite long, so settle in.
‘Fever’ is the story’s darkest hour. But true light can only be found in the deepest darkness.
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The first sound broke the silence of Eirran’s study like the crack of dry wood: quiet, but undeniably there. It was short, dry, almost muffled; but he heard it, through the slightly open window, carried on the draft that lifted the edges of parchments spread out on the table before him.
Eirran looked up, brows knitting in sudden recognition. There was no mistaking it – that particular, deep cough belonged to Lily. But there was something wrong about it. It sounded… too rough, too deep. The chair scraped sharply against the floor as he rose, the parchment slipping from his fingers to the ground as he strode to the window.
There she was, on the stone bench by the fountain, cloak pulled tight around her slender frame, one small hand pressed to her chest while the other covered her mouth.
Another cough racked through the air, longer this time. Her body shook with the tremors.
Without thinking, he swung open the balcony door and flew down to the courtyard. He landed with an ungraceful thud, sending a gust of wind to her face.
There was a wrongness about her he’d never seen before. She raised her gaze and met him with eyes too wide on a face too pale, and full of wild, primal fear.
“I can’t…” she began, but another fit of coughing tore the words away. This time he heard it clearly: a deep, harrowing sound from the depths of her lungs, like a wet cloth tearing. Her hand fell from her mouth, revealing dark specks on the corners of her lips – tiny dots of blood, shockingly red against her pale skin.
The world around them stood still; hourglasses stopped counting time.
Her upper body swayed, her hand shot out to grip the edge of the bench. Without a word, Eirran dropped to his knees before her, his arms already reaching to catch her if she tumbled down.
Hours blended together.
Ilari healers refused to examine her, making excuses about not understanding the bodies of humans or half-breeds, but Eirran knew the truth: they simply didn’t want to touch her. Rage flared inside him, but he forced it down. His anger would not save her, only drain him of the energy needed to seek help elsewhere.
He sent Keth to fetch Mirna and a human healer from the docks. The man arrived by midday, but Eirran already suspected what he might say, although he dared not voice it aloud.
“Lung plague,” the words fell like a verdict as the healer pulled his ear from her back.
Eirran stood by the window, fingers gripping the wood of the sill.
“How?! How is it possible? The quarantine…”
“Was she anywhere near the docks recently?” The healer’s calm voice cut in.
Eirran shook his head. “No, she rarely ventures out of the palace.”
“Has any human from the palace been down there or shown symptoms?”
Eirran paused. Jereh used to spend time frequently at the docks, although Lily had pointed out he hadn’t gone there ever since the flag was raised.
“Not that I know of.”
The healer frowned. “Odd. This kind of illness usually spreads through human contact.”
Eirran stepped forward, wings slightly flaring. “And you’re certain it’s plague?”
The man shrugged. “Only Ellevath can be certain. But all signs point to it. I’m sorry.”
The muscle in Eirran’s jaw trembled, then stilled.
“I’ll prescribe teas and tinctures.” The healer sighed, his eyes filled with weary understanding. “But you must understand…” His gaze softened on Lily’s feverish face. “The mortality is high. Especially in children. And her symptoms are already severe.”
Eirran clenched his fists. “This is a human sickness. She is half-Ilari. That has to mean something.”
The healer shrugged. “I’ve seen half-breeds die from human illnesses before. I’ve also seen them survive against all odds. It’s impossible to tell for certain.”
Eirran said nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on Lily’s small fingers clutching the sheets, her body shaking from the effort to breathe.
Mirna arrived just as the healer was leaving, flushed and panting from running. Eirran met her at the doorway.
“I was at the market. I just heard about Lily. What is it? Is it…”
“Lung plague,” Eirran said, his voice grave as a tomb.
She froze, horror flooding her face. “No! How? How is it possible?!”
“I don’t know.”
“No. Not my girl…” Her hand flew to her mouth as she tried to look past him into the room. She moved to push through, but his grip caught her arm.
“Mirna. You can’t. You’ll get infected.”
“I don’t care! Let me through!”
“Mirna!” His voice cracked. “Please! She needs you alive.”
Her glare cut through him. “And you? Does she not need you?”
He swallowed hard. “The plague is a human sickness. Ilari don’t fall ill from it.”
Her face twisted into a mask of grief and fury. “How very convenient for you.”
“Mirna,” his voice came from somewhere deep and hollow, “please. She needs you. I’ll provide all I can, but you know the human remedies.”
Only then did she truly look at him, and saw the desperation in his eyes.
And understood:
In this, they were alone.
As time crept by, the fever rose higher and Lily’s breathing turned into a myriad of wet, rugged, creaking noises – the sound of loose floorboards in a sinking boat.
She slipped in and out of consciousness, and by the sundown of the third day, she began to hallucinate.
“Crows!” she screamed suddenly, arms reaching toward invisible terrors on the ceiling. “Black crows in the air! All around! The screeching… make it stop! Make it stop!”
Eirran caught her wrists before she could claw at her skin, tear at her hair. Her flesh was searing hot, her eyes clouded and unfocused, filled with terrible images only she could see. She gripped his sleeve, her voice a desperate whisper, “They’ll take me… take me away, down, down, down into the dark…” A scream. “Don’t let them take me!”
He held her wrists, his grip firm yet gentle.
“Lily, Lily, it’s alright. No one is taking you away.” He murmured.
The door opened without a knock. Mirna’s face appeared in the crack, pale and strained. “I heard her scream. Is she…”
“Delirium,” he said tightly, still restraining Lily’s flailing hands. “Mirna, please bring more cold cloths, and the willow bark tea if you can make some.”
She nodded, but her eyes lingered on his gaunt face. “Eirran, you haven’t slept in two days. You have to…”
“Mirna!” His voice was sharp, but his eyes pleaded. “Please.”
Her gaze softened as she looked at the child trembling in the sheets, tears welling in her eyes.
“She’s mine too,” she whispered. “I’ve raised her since she was two. To see her like this…” She swallowed, then straightened, brushing away her tears with the practiced motion of a woman who had buried too many sorrows. “I’ll bring the tea.”
She turned, and almost collided with Jereh. Evan stood by his side, restless, hands fidgeting with his pockets.
“How is she?” Jereh asked.
“Jereh,” Mirna said, steady now. “She’s delirious.” The word fell heavy, like an anchor sinking into deep water.
He stumbled back. “No.”
“I want to see her.” Evan stepped forward but Mirna stepped in front of him. “You can’t.” She squeezed out.”You’ll get sick if you do.”
Evan pressed his lips tight. “Then I’ll stay here.”
She smacked him on the upper arm, gently, not to hurt but to warn.
“Don’t be ridiculous! That’ll do no good neither her or you. Go back. I’ll keep you both informed.”
“And her?” Jereh asked, nodding toward the room.
“He’s with her. Eirran. The Ilari don’t fall ill from this.”
Jereh’s fists clenched, his jaw tight.
“Jereh, it’s all right,” she said softly. “She isn’t alone. He’s watching over her.”
The man and the boy stood there tense, silence trickling like water. And then with a heavy sigh, Jereh put a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Come.” He said.
Evan opened his mouth, eyes fixed toward Lily’s door. “But…”
“Go with your father.” Mirna said. “Eat. Sleep. Make sure you’re strong enough to be there for her when she wakes.”
Boy’s eyes glistened a bit, but he wiped the moisture with the back of his hand. He didn’t say anything else, but his shoulders slumped as he and Jereh walked away.
On the fifth day, Eirran had missed a Council meeting, and the halls buzzed with rumor.
“Your Excellency!!” a messenger shouted through the door. “Gareth V’Renthor demands your presence at once! They say…”
“Let him wait!” His five-voiced roar echoed through the corridors, sending servants into a spree like startled sparrows.
Inside the sickroom, Lily lay half-conscious, her breathing growing shallower by the hour, each breath a thud of heavy rain hitting wet earth. Her lips were tinged blue on top of an ashen face and crusted with dried specks of blood.
She didn’t hear his voice or see his face. Her body and mind fought an invisible enemy he could neither see nor slay.
Mirna arrived at dusk carrying a bowl of heated olive oil. “Warm oil,” she said simply. “Old Selavetian remedy for cough. Although we use fat or cod oil, this will do the same.” She handed him the bowl. “Soak the compresses and put them on her chest.”
Eirran nodded, too tired to question. He worked silently, soaking the cloths and layering them on her skin, her whimpers soft and weak.
“You must eat,” Mirna whispered from the doorway when Lily finally drifted into uneasy sleep. “Five days without proper food… I’ll bring you something from the kitchen.”
He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the rise and fall of Lily’s chest, each breath a battle he could almost feel in his own ribs.
Fariah found him at dawn on the seventh day, sitting by Lily’s bed, eyes fixed to the window as he watched sunlight creep across the southern garden.
“This is a disgrace!” Her voice sliced through the room like a blade. “The rumors have filled every hallway! Eirran V’Asanii, absent from the Council! Eirran V’Asanii, the mad prince who’s chained himself to the chamber of rot! Eirran V’Asanii, the subject of every whisper in the palace and beyond! Have you no shame or dignity left? You’ve entombed yourself in here, leaving me to keep the palace from crumbling!”
Eirran barely looked up. His hands trembled on the edge of Lily’s bed. “She’s dying,” he said simply, his voice hoarse from sleepless nights.
“You’re the one who’s dying!” Fariah seized his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Look at you! You’ve wasted away! The servants say you’ve gone insane – obsessed with that… thing!”
He flinched at the insult but had no strength to argue. He couldn’t deny there was some truth to her words – he had seen how the servants avoided his path, how they whispered behind his back. But the rattle that came from his daughter’s chest silenced every other noise.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” he murmured. “How could she have gotten sick?”
Fariah’s expression turned to stone. “How, indeed. One might say it’s Ellevath’s punishment; you’ve provoked Him enough.”
But he only partially heard her.
“What if it’s my fault?” he whispered suddenly, eyes falling to Lily’s face. “What if she’s paying for my arrogance? My defiance? My selfish desire to push her into the light…”
Fariah’s eyes blazed for a moment. “Finally, it comes to you,” she said coldly. “What the world has been telling you all along.”
He couldn’t look or listen to her anymore. He turned away, message clear.
She left without a sound. He didn’t see how, just before she walked out, her gaze fell upon Lily’s pale face for a briefest moment, the corner of her lips twitching in something that might have resembled guilt.
The door closed with a thud.
Eirran remained motionless, the only sound the breath that sounded like a countdown.
At twilight on the ninth day, Eirran made his choice. While Lily drifted in feverish half-sleep, he talked to Mirna in front of Lily’s door.
“Pack her things, and yours,” he said, his voice rough and dry. “She can’t stay here.”
“Eirran…”
“I’m not discussing it. I’ll do whatever it takes to save her. If that means leaving…” He stuttered. “As soon as she recovers.”
He didn’t dare say if she recovers.
As he resumed his place by her bed, he slumped, face falling into his open palms.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “For everything. For bringing you here, for making you a martyr of my own cause. I’m sorry. And I swear to you – no more. I won’t allow you to suffer anymore.” He paused. “Even if it means giving you away.”
A small, burning hand suddenly closed around his wrist with surprising strength.
“Don’t,” came her voice, thin as cobweb, hoarse from cough. “Don’t leave me. Papa.”
That word, that single word, fell down and cut something deep inside him in half.
Without thought, Eirran dropped to his knees beside her, his wings spreading wide as all thought fled from him, leaving nothing but despair.
On pure instinct, he folded his wings forward, creating a living dome around them both, and cradled her within the hollow beneath his tertiary feathers.
The place where a single, well-angled bladed strike meant the difference between life and death.
He didn’t know what he was doing, or why. His body was acting on a memory that existed before religion, before time.
And then, suddenly, something deep within him screeched, striking like a serpent woken from a deep sleep. Heresy! Heresy! – screamed inside his skull; a multitude of voices: Fariah’s shrill tones mingling with the chants of priests and holy hymns, the written and unwritten laws, the weight of ancient texts… All colliding into a cacophony that battered him from within.
But there was something else too: a whisper rising from the abyss of his soul. This is how it should be.
No logic. No reason. Only instinct of a father, raw and sacred, pulsing with each labored breath of the child in his arms.
Her pale fingers clutched at his lliath as she burrowed deeper into that sacred place, her breath feverish yet somehow growing steadier.
The sound that escaped Eirran’s throat was neither human nor Ilari, but the cry of a soul splitting open.
The voices fell silent.
And in their place was only quiet: not an Ilari and half-blood, not an angel and a sin – just a father and his child.
Lily woke at dawn on the tenth day, the world returning to her slowly, like a tide drawing back from the shore.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed were feathers that arched above her in perfect canopy, shielding her from the light of the room.
“Father?” Her voice was rough but steady.
Eirran, who had not slept a full night for nine days, opened his eyes at once. His gaze found hers in the half-light.
“Lily.” His hand lifted, trembling, halfway to her face; afraid that if he touched her, she might vanish.
Lily suddenly understood where she was.
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at his face – hollowed, starved, shadowed by dark rings, yet somehow serene despite it.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” she whispered, careful not to let her fingers touch his feathers.
He only nodded, gently pulling back his wings, eyes filled with something too vast for words.
The warm ray of rising sun fell across her cheeks, and for the first time, she felt like her body had finally stopped fighting itself. The fever had broken, leaving only weakness and a sore chest behind.
“Water,” murmured Eirran, offering her a cup.
Lily took it in both hands, her own fingers shaking a little. The water was cool and sweet, but swallowing sent a knife of pain through her throat.
“Slowly,” Eirran whispered, hand half-raised to steady her but stopping, uncertain. “Mirna says your throat needs time.”
Lily nodded, blinking against the haze of fatigue. “How long…?”
“Nine days,” he said, his voice breaking. “Nine days and nine nights.”
She didn’t need to ask what he had done during those nights. It was written in the hollows of his cheeks, in the slump of his shoulders, in the quiet devotion of his eyes.
When she tried to sit, her body refused. Eirran moved instantly – his arms sliding under her shoulders as he lifted her upright.
“Don’t rush,” he said softly. “Your lungs still need rest.”
Her breathing came shallow but steady. Beneath the exhaustion, she felt something else – the warmth of his touch, and the simple miracle of being alive.
Later that morning, Mirna brought in a jug filled with bitter sage tea. When she saw Lily seated in the bed with clear eyes, she almost dropped the platter.
“Praise to Ellevath!” Mirna gasped, touching her throat in three points and rushing over. Eirran, who was quietly sitting by the bed, only smiled.
Setting the tray on the bedside cabinet, she hugged Lily so tight that the girl squealed. Mirna let go just enough, showering her head with kisses. Then she reached out to pour her a cup of tea. The strong scent rose into the air, making Lily scowl.
“Drink all of it,” Mirna said firmly, setting it on the nightstand. “You’re still not fully healed. I have to tell Jereh and Evan; they’ll be overjoyed!” she said, rushing away in quick footsteps.
Lily grimaced and nudged the cup toward Eirran. “I can’t drink this stuff. It tastes like burnt dirt.”
Eirran raised an eyebrow, then suddenly reached into his pocket. When he straightened, he held something wrapped in a silk handkerchief: a small bundle he’d kept hidden.
“Then we’ll have to make the bitter sweet,” he said, unfolding it to reveal four honey biscuits shaped like stars, glazed in gold.
Lily’s breath caught. “How did you…”
“Tana has a weakness for my pleading,” he said with a smile, placing one of the biscuits on the rim of her cup. “And she knows I’m unbearable when I’m hungry.”
Lily took the biscuit, mouth already watering. But when she took a sip of the tea, the bitterness still clawed its way through the sweetness.
“It’s still awful,” she muttered, though she was already taking another gulp.
Eirran watched her face shift through each battle of flavors – the wrinkle of her nose at the bitterness, the softening after the sweetness. A small ritual, yet suddenly sacred: his daughter, alive, safe, strong enough to argue about taste.
He reached to smooth her hair, but at that moment Lily turned toward him, her hand brushing the edge of his right wing.
They both froze.
Lily’s eyes went wide, her hand hovering in midair as if she’d touched fire. The verse from the sacred texts once again swept through her mind like a tidal wave: Let not the wings of the Ilari be defiled by the touch of those born of earth, for they are the holy bridge between earth and sky.
With Eirran, the old – forbidden, no – clashed against something older than dogma, something that whispered – it is how it should be. The collisions came softer now, like waves fading after a storm.
“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered, hand trembling. “I didn’t…”
“Lily,” he interrupted, voice breaking. He closed his eyes. “Don’t.”
For several heartbeats, time stood suspended.
He didn’t think himself a true believer anymore, but some small, buried part of him still feared she might be harmed by something he couldn’t articulate.
Lily slowly raised her hand again, not toward him, but into the air between them in a silent question. The fear that once lived inside her was gone, replaced by a calm resolve.
She asked. And there was only one answer he could give.
Eirran took a deep breath, feeling the last remnants of broken chains within him shift. Against the residue of that ancient, poisonous fear that screamed no, he slowly extended his wing toward her hand.
“Go on,” he murmured, and those simple two words slid like a key into a lock.
Her fingers uncurled tentatively, as if she was reaching towards flame, the touch barely a whisper gliding down the feathers like a sigh of wind.
“It doesn’t burn,” she mused, almost to herself, eyes wide with wonder. “I thought… Never mind.” She shook her head. “Does it hurt you?” she asked, hesitating.
“No,” he said, and it was true. A part of him had expected searing pain perhaps, or some other form of divine punishment – but there was none. Only awareness. The mundanity of that touch was astounding.
She blinked. “Can I ask you? About the feathers?”
He nodded. “Ask.”
Growing bravbraver, she traced the tiny, soft feathers at the crest of the joint – delicate things resting over the strong bone and taut sinew beneath.
“Why are these feathers so small?” she asked.
“They’re coverts,” he explained. “They keep out the cold.”
She nodded, moving on to where the feathers grew larger, sharper. “And these?”
“Primaries. They bear the greatest burden. They have to be strong.”
Her fingers followed their shape with childlike awe, stilling at the base of one, feeling the warmth radiating from the rachis. “Can they break?”
“They can,” he said. “But they can also heal.”
She frowned.
“Does it hurt you if it breaks?”
“Depends on where.” He pointed where her fingers rested, near the base. “Here the feather is alive; it can feel, it can bleed.” He slid his finger toward the tip. “Here it’s not. If it snaps there, it doesn’t hurt.”
Her eyes widened. She withdrew her hand, and he chuckled.
“Don’t worry. It takes more than the press of your fingers to break a feather.” He flicked the tip playfully, brushing her nose. She squealed, rubbing it.
“That tickles!” she giggled, gently pushing his wing away.
He laughed, spilling harmonies like silverware without restraint. Today there were no traces of unease in her eyes. Only joy.
“Why are those feathers shorter?” she asked, pointing to the tertiary row.
“They’re for balance,” he said, his voice low and calm. “When we fly, they keep us steady.”
“And this?” her eyebrows drew together as her fingers floated above a patch on the inner curve. After a moment her hand withdrew, but eyes held a question.
“That’s the hollow,” he answered it, his voice teetering on the verge of breaking.
The place where mortal flesh ends and the bridge to the divine begins, whispered doctrine from the dark recess of memory.
“It’s the place where a single well-angled sword strike can kill us,” he said instead. “The place where…” He stopped, unable to find the words which could adequately capture the sanctity of it.
Lily looked up, eyes full of understanding. “Where you held me.” It wasn’t a question.
Eirran nodded, unable to speak.
“You know,” she mused, “I’ve seen seagulls cradle their young there. I didn’t know what it was called, though.”
The words cracked something inside him, that spilled out as a stifled laugh.
“Father?” Lily’s voice was soft, impossibly gentle.
He looked at her.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you there,” she said with the fierce certainty only children possess.
He hugged her then, awkwardly and honestly, with arms and wings both, and exhaled – a single breath releasing centuries of weight.
“I’m sorry, Lily. Sorry I didn’t allow this sooner. I don’t…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what was wrong with me.”
She squeezed him back. “You didn’t let me because you were afraid. Same reason I didn’t dare ask.” She smiled faintly. “Silly, huh?”
He laughed through a tightening throat. “Very silly, Lily. We won’t be that silly anymore, will we?”
She looked at him with bright, clear eyes – clearer than they’d been in ten days. “We won’t.” She said it with a smile, then asked suddenly, “Why would Ellevath create something so beautiful and gentle, and then forbid it to be shared?”
Eirran paused. He had no answer.
She blinked. “Because, when you think about it, really think – it’s just like when Aunt Mirna brushes my hair.”
He froze – and then it hit him.
It was just like that.
When Mirna brushed her hair, it wasn’t just grooming. It was theirs – a quiet ritual of love, care, belonging. A moment he had secretly envied, like he once envied Jereh for the knots, for how she leaned her head upon his shoulder so effortlessly.
And now, the whisper of small fingers along his feathers felt just as natural, just as pure.
A new language. A new path, just discovered.
It felt like grace.
“You’re right,” he said softly, his mouth dry.
She leaned away. “Then why was it forbidden?”
He closed his eyes.
Why?
Because fear came easier than love.
Because the holy bridge between earth and heaven had turned into a wall between people.
Because it was simpler to rule those who are divided.
But how to explain this to a child?
“Because people forgot what truly matters,” he said at last.
Lily looked at him, and he saw understanding in her eyes.
And in that gaze, he finally saw what the doctrine had stolen from him:
The fullness of love he could have had with Noemi.
The closeness he’d missed with his own child.
The time they could never reclaim.
And for the first time in his long life, he felt truly defiled.
Lily leaned forward, pressing her small hand against his back, just above the wing.
“I won’t forget,” she promised, voice steady. “And we’ll do this often; so you won’t forget either.” Smile spread across her face like sunlight.
He closed his eyes. And now that his soul had finally caught up with his voice, he knew: there could be no God without love. No holiness could exist without the truth.
And that was his new liturgy.
In the early afternoon Mirna entered the room quietly, carrying a bowl of soup, and stopped at the doorway, taking in the scene before her.
Eirran slumped in a chair, asleep, one wing spilling across the floor, while the other was spread across the bed where Lily rested peacefully, the rise and fall of her chest finally slow and even.
“I see you’ve found a better cure than my teas,” she said dryly, though her eyes were warm.
Eirran blinked, twitching as he sprung awake, but said nothing. Some truths were too great for words.
Mirna chuckled, then set the bowl down carefully, gazing at Lily’s sleeping face framed by white feathers. “I didn’t think you were allowed to do that.”
“I’m not,” Eirran replied simply. “But everything I’ve ever done right in my life has been forbidden.”
Mirna studied him for a moment, her clever eyes softening. “Then perhaps,” she said slowly, “that’s exactly why it’s right.”
Eirran didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Then the door behind Mirna burst open and Jereh and Evan charged in with all the grace of two stampeding buffaloes.
Lily stirred, blinking sleep away.
Eirran instinctively withdrew his wings, but not before catching the startled looks of the man and the boy.
They said nothing. Evan ran to Lily and lifted her chin. “Look at you! You look like something a cow chewed up and spat out.”
“Hey!” Lily smacked his arm. “Says the one whose hair looks like it’s been licked by a horse!”
She turned to Jereh, who was watching her with that solid, quiet warmth of a man whose soul was overflowing and whose eyes shone – from dry air, of course. He sat beside her, stroking her hair, his hand lingering on her cheek.
“I knew you’d be all right,” he lied softly. “My girl’s tough.”
“I am,” she said with a small smile. Jereh’s heavy arm wrapped around her from one side, Evan’s leaner one from the other. Mirna sat beside Jereh, resting a hand on Lily’s leg above the blanket.
Jereh looked up at Eirran, who had stepped back to give them space. “Thank you. For staying with her. If it weren’t for you…”
“If it weren’t for Mirna,” Eirran interrupted gently. “We were in this together.”
Jereh nodded. “Still… ten days.”
Eirran shook his head. “A parent doesn’t leave,” he said simply.
Nothing more needed to be said.
Because love needed no words.
It had wings.
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Author’s note:
So, that was ‘Fever’. I know, it’s a lot. Take a moment to breathe.
This chapter was my attempt to explore parental love in its purest, almost sacramental form, to showcase the full extent of its transformative power, and to portray how rigid dogma can systematically poison the most sacred forms of human connection.
For Eirran, the journey was twofold: For nine days, he knew the doctrine was wrong. On the tenth, he finally broke from it entirely. One is an intellectual rebellion. The other is a soul-deep transformation. And only the second has the power to change a world.
The sharpest blades are forged in the hottest fires. And after this trial, theirs are now well and truly unsheathed.
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