Vilrath awoke with a start, surprised he'd let himself sleep in so long. Immediately after waking in that chair, he cast his moonlit gaze toward Laoell's bed, expecting to see her curled up and asleep there.

Nothing; just sheets and an empty bed, Laoell was nowhere to be found. Immediately, the drow looked around the small building that was his and the fallen Seraphim?s home, expecting her to be off in one of the corners, doing one thing or another.

Still, there was nothing, just him, and an empty room. He stood, looking out the window, maybe Throx and Laoell hadn?t come back just yet, and maybe they were on their way. But the dark outside swatted that guess down almost before he?d even had time to think of it. It was far too late for that, and Throx new better than to keep the maiden out that long.

He wrenched the door open, and started out, looking this way and that. Quickly, Vilrath started moving about the area, looking for tracks of some sort, for a clue as to where Laoell might have gotten off to, with all the frantic haste of a frightened parent.

He paused, spotting a set of foot prints, faint, barely distinguishable against the ground, headed toward the crumbling mill tower; Laoell?s tracks. The drow followed them carefully toward the tower, then looked off to the side, and spotted another, less faint set of footprints, someone else?s tracks.

His wards, they hadn?t alerted him to someone, someone new. He studied them, thinking for a moment perhaps, that they may have been Desaid?s. But Desaid?s tracks were different, his feet dragged with his hesitance, more than picked up with confidence. There was no way they were Lani?s, her?s were a touch smaller. Throx?s, well that was just out of the question; the ogre probably couldn?t fit inside the tower anyways.

He studied this tracks for a long while, cursing himself quietly for not waking sooner, and searched and studied the wards that had been in place. Something lingered there, a scent he couldn?t quite place, it was more of a feeling taken on by the magic, than any discernable smell.

But he waited, he calmed, he took it in; brimstone.

Instantly, Vilrath turned back for the tower, hurrying up the steps two at a time, his movements while frantic and swift, left little to distinguish the sounds of his movements, to those of a small woodland critter bounding off in the forest.

As his head crested the opening that led to the top level of the tower, he hoisted himself up, ignoring the last few steps with a kick of his legs that had him standing, tall, figuratively speaking, before the sleeping forms of Laoell and?

Who was that?

Lazarus stirred, only when the delicate woman he held so tenderly spoke her quiet, morning greetings to the drow that had discovered them so pleasantly entangled atop the tower. Dark, warm, crimson eyes slowly peeled open, all for the maiden he still clung to for the first few moments of his waking, before they slowly turned toward the scent of caverns, blood, and blades.

The drow that hovered before them did little to startle the ever confident and prepared Lazarus, who could smell his presence on Laoell when they first met. He figured, they?d have a run in with some of her friends sooner or later anyways.

He stretched out quietly, watching those silver eyes with his own; gauging the reaction of the deadly warrior that stood before him, as he worked against the lingering traces of a truly restful sleep.

?Good morning, Vilrath,? came his greeting, mirroring Laoell?s words as he finally settled, and stared up curiously at this drow.

Time to meet the family, Lazarus.

Tension sung through the air, so fine and thick that the small woman swore she could drink it if she ran a cup through the air; it would be a unsettling thing on the stomach, she decided.

Dark eyes reflected either man, quiet and partly solemn. Nervousness and guilt trickled down her spine, and it showed in every subtle movement, the muscles play beneath skin gave her away despite the pale, neat oval of her face and it's gentle expression. Time to play peace maker, little Laoell, your soul's lover and warrior brother don't quite look as though they enjoy sharing the things they care for. A quick glance back to the other half to her soul, the piece of her she'd long missed but never knew she had; the flames to her rain.

"Lazarus. His name is Lazarus, Vilrath." Her voice, sonorous and sweet as ever, interjected in the most pleading of manners. Slowly she came to a stand, though immediately began to feel the cold sweep in and claim her body. How was she suddenly so cold? Gooseflesh stole her slender limbs, but her hands' articulation were all for the task at hand.

The barest of touches to her chest from both hands, their fingers overlapping as her brows wilted, overcome with awe as much as they echoed a plea for understanding. "He was-is.. He is my Reason." Suddenly words lost eluded her. Eons of poets and scholars could not recreate the balladry akin enough to the feelings that swallowed her whole when the idea of describing Lazarus came up. She stilled then, her hands falling slightly as her lips faltered. Suddenly she felt so infinitely small, as though she were little girl defending her childhood sweetheart in the face of her father... And her father had a pair of wicked scimitars with years of blood engrained into each blade.

Try again, little Laoell; breath deep and brave.

"His are the eyes chased away my nightmares, and he is the one who's soul called me to Fall... He is my reason." There. She released that breath. Much better.... Perhaps.

"Vilrath!" Startled, frightened, worried that she'd hurt her dearest and closest friend since coming to the mortal realm, Laoell all but flew across the space between them as the drow turned to leave. Her bare feet were a flurry of motion, so fast it was a wonder in itself the frail creature didn't stumble and harm herself in the process of spiriting down those few steps the dark warrior had managed to get beneath his feet.

She had to have his reassurance, even in the face of the things she'd coveted the most; the things she'd Fallen for... Lazarus, she could not abandon Vilrath so easily. Memories of his closeness, the overwhelming comfort his scent had brought her when he'd carried her home. These were things, special things, soul-touching things that the delicate angel would never want to forget. Laoell gripped the drow from behind, winding the thin spindle of her arms about him tightly.

What she said next, she said in truth. And though perhaps the meaning was different from the one she felt when she spoke to Lazarus, that didn't make it less meaningful in any way. It was a warmth that he'd nurtured in her tortured soul since the very beginning.

"I love you... Arisa. Hear me now when I say no matter where my life may take me, and no matter how truly what I feel for this man is, you are forever a brother to my heart. A man of nobility and courage for one who didn't have the strength to be so." She felt tears sting the back of her throat, why did this feel like she was saying goodbye? The thought of it was painful beyond belief, but Laoell was no fool, Vilrath would never have stayed with her forever now that she was a capable creature. Even if she'd not found her Soul's call, the drow would have moved on, for that was the way of the warrior he was, and those blades he carried were too heavy to stay idle with forever.

Whatever else she could say fell away, words seemed to thick a thing to stay aloft in the air, so instead she let her arms fall away, and her steps retreat backwards. Wings rustled anxiously as she found Lazarus' side again, curling towards him despite the tender way her eyes held the drow's retreating frame.

The love was different, but it was still just as powerful.