The iron bars divided the darkness. The most stubborn darkness seeped from its self-woven cage, slowly creeping over the rust on the bars, trembling before losing its breath and collapsing on the ground. The light in the corridor, an arrogant yet careless conqueror, paced back and forth, trampling on the black blood everywhere but never determined to invade the territory beyond the iron bars. Bossia stood where the light reached; she was a prisoner of the church, now an uninvited guest of the conqueror. She was waiting for an echo, one that had to be awaited with courage rather than patience. It would come from the vaguely discernible human figure in the darkness. She couldn't see this person's face, only the outline of one shoulder and arm. If he spoke, the syllables would not just be his own voice but also the long-accumulated silence of the prison.
"Who is it?"
The words dropped into Bossia's mind, then continued to fall, trying to fit accurately into a position that once belonged to them eight years ago. The result was like trying to scoop up the same amount of river sand twice with one's palm; Bossia had to give herself a mental hint to confirm there was no difference between the past and the present voices. She hadn't expected him to recognize her voice immediately, and now she vaguely felt he wasn't looking at her.
"Bossia," she said. "It's Bossia."
A silence lasting about ten seconds followed. She wondered what images appeared in his mind. Some things were vague to her as well, like the first meeting seemed to be in prison—no, at a banquet after a royal hunting event—or perhaps even earlier? I remember several dangerous encounters in Goldshire, the masked pursuer and the woman who skinned people, including details like the victim's name being Ena and the stench in the dim attic. But why did I meet him there, and how did we agree to go to Westfall together? One night during the journey, I felt regret and the urge to leave; he stopped me with some not particularly considerate words, but I can't remember the exact wording. The scene on the Hero's Valley Bridge is unforgettable; the golden key that symbolized all our feelings at the time is gone.
"Why have you come back?"
This was his response. Bossia found herself familiar with this way of speaking, even feeling a strange sense of closeness. She hadn't expected him to talk about memories, especially after all the ups and downs he had experienced these years. She suddenly felt she could talk normally.
"I heard the archbishop died, so I..."
"You shouldn't be here," he interrupted.
She didn't know how to respond to this vague statement. Did he mean this place, Stormwind, or the Canal Prison? Why shouldn't she be here—was there no reason, or would it cause trouble? She sensed a dismissive tone, suddenly feeling sad. Given his current situation, he shouldn't have the strength to expel anyone.
Also, she still couldn't see his face. The time Bossia had at her disposal today was limited, and perhaps there wouldn't be another chance to come here—or even see him again. She was still very familiar with her younger self; faced with such a cold interruption, she would be left speechless or agree with his conclusion, defending herself with pleas. Now, she didn't want to waste time.
"I know you've spent a lot of effort looking for me over the years."
"It was Benedictus' request. Now that he's dead, you're willing to show up, but if you really cared, you shouldn't have been hiding. You've chosen the worst timing."
"But, the search for me included your intentions too. At least at the beginning." Seeing he didn't respond, Bossia continued. "In Tanaris, I almost... I nearly ran into the people you sent. Later, I decided to run away."
"Bossia."
The sudden call of her name startled her.
"So, you stayed in Silithus all this time," he continued.
She wanted to know if he was looking at her, so she said nothing, just nodded. After a moment, she couldn't help but ask, "Why do you think that?"
"Your skin. You've been in a place with strong sunlight for a long time, and you just said you ran away from Tanaris. Besides, my people never went to Silithus. So there's no other possibility."
A very simple answer. Bossia suddenly felt her question made her seem not very smart. But she at least proved one thing. He was in the dark, looking up at her, recognizing her changes.
"You were a mercenary there?"
"Yes."
"I can tell."
Why? I didn't even bring a weapon.
Bossia set aside this doubt.
"Who sent you here?"
"Bishop Hylan."
"Tell me about your experiences since you came back."
"Why?"
"You don't have to."
"Then how do you know if I'm telling the truth?"
"If it's not true, I won't listen further."
Bossia knew, for both of them, the phase of reminiscing was over. He was trying to judge the situation in his usual way; as someone inside the iron bars, interrogating her, who was temporarily free.
"I didn't want to sneak back, so I revealed my identity as soon as I entered the city. The church found out and confined me in a mansion. I heard about the archbishop and the will from many people, and about you from Hylan... He asked if I wanted to see you."
"Then you know what's going on here."
"Yes, including why they captured you."
"Why?"
"You... want me to repeat it?"
"Say it."
"Old Shawl died eight months ago. You concealed his death, occupying his position... something like that." After a Shawlt while, she added, "They didn't just say it to me. It's their public statement."
"Do you want to know if it's true?"
Bossia understood that he had caught the implied meaning in her last sentence.
When it came to truth, Bossia couldn't judge for herself. She never had a clear concept of the situation in Seven. She preferred to think it wasn't true, but that was only from an emotional perspective.
"Of course, I do," she said.
"It's as they said."
"Then... why?"
"You don't need to know."
"Why say that?"
"I take back what I said. Whether you need to know isn't the issue. The real question is whether you're qualified. You may have undergone training in Silithus, but fundamentally, you're no different from eight years ago. Naive and immature."
"If you really don't want to talk to me, you don't have to say it like that. I'm the person who knows myself best. I don't mind you saying I was naive and immature eight years ago; I actually think so too. But now..."
"And now what? Hylan suggests you meet me, and you came, then keep asking questions. Have you thought about why Hylan wanted you to come? The decision to confine you was a collective decision of the church, and Hylan is now the most powerful person in the church. Not to mention that revealing your name as soon as you arrived in Stormwind shows you haven't learned anything."
"Why say that? Are you expressing your disappointment in me? Whatever happened this time, I haven't thought about whose side I'm on, so there's no need to act like you're guiding me. Really, why would you want to take that person's place? Does that mean you now think like old Shawl? Eight years ago, we didn't spend much time together, but I really don't think you would deceive everyone for the title of leader of Seven. If that's really the case, I would regret coming here today."
"You can leave."
Even now, Bossia could only see the outline of one shoulder and arm. Their position had never changed. She felt like she was talking to an almost dry well. In fact, she didn't think his words were harsh enough; they even seemed anxious, trying to push her away with vague aggressive words. She couldn't stand such a conversation.
"Of course, I thought about Hylan's intentions, but when I returned to Stormwind, I knew I couldn't resist coming to see you. Since he gave me the opportunity, I took it; I didn't want to think about motives for now. That golden key was the most important thing to me for a long time. I still often regret leaving it in Gadgetzan. Besides, whatever you say about finding me being entirely Benedictus' idea, it doesn't matter; I won't believe it. There's nothing special between us now, but I can at least ask for more sincere treatment."
"Don't forget where we are. A prison. In such a place, anything can happen, except what you said—sincerity."
"I know you're not old Shawl, nor will you become like him. I knew that eight years ago, and I still believe it... especially after hearing about your experiences these years. You've had a hard time. Stand up, Jorgen. Stand up and come over here, let me see what you look like. In the past, you saved me several times, making me feel that if you made a decision, it would be fine. Now, at least let me know I'm really talking to the person I knew eight years ago."
Bossia moved closer, holding onto the iron bars. From now on, she could hear Jorgen's breathing. Her right hand slightly reached into the dying darkness, hanging limply as if requesting another's grasp. She waited for the figure sitting in the unseen place to stand up and truly face her.