A voice claps through their souls, so loud it draws blood through the
pores of their skin.
The Gates are no longer guarded.
Mimara is also on her knees, also shrieking, yet her fingers somehow
find her purse, begin fumbling, pinching the Chorae that nearly killed
the Wizard. She cringes beneath the looming aspect, a child beneath a
collapsing city wall. She hugs her limbs against the piercing pleas of
little mouths, the moaning masses of the damned....
And somehow lifts her Tear of God.
She knows not what she does. She knows only what she glimpsed in the
slave chamber, that single slow heartbeat of light and revelation. She
knows what she saw with the Judging Eye.
The Chorae burns as a sun in her fingers, making red wine of her hand
and forearm, revealing the shadow of her bones, and yet drawing the
eye instead of rebuking it, a light that does not blind.
"I guard them!", she weeps, standing frail beneath the white-bleached
Seal. "I hold the Gates!"
-The Judging Eye