Thor shifted uncomfortably in her armor, her fierce pride completely faltering. Her eyes drifted down toward the dirt. She remembered that battlefield in Hebthej perfectly.
She remembered walking away from Lancet. And she remembered him taking the Gloom Spear for her sake. The Valkyrie's face reddened softly.
"You... you were carrying a cracked core this entire time?" Thor asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, the rough edges of her personality completely melting away. "Because of that spear?"
"Yeah," Lancet said softly. "So summoning any of you was basically impossible unless I was lucky. If I summoned you, I just had to hope that my Grace wouldn't cut. And it always did."
Astensia looked away, a deep crimson tint of shame flushing over her cheeks. She had spent weeks feeling abandoned and neglected, nursing a wounded pride, while her master was quietly suffocating under an injury he had sustained in battle.
