(A/N: Originally, this was going to be the second half of Chapter XXV, but the whole thing was just becoming too unwieldy. But I have a clear picture of where we're going, and how we're getting there… in the words of King Henry (The Lion in Winter), all I need is a little quiet confidence.
Beta-work provided by the MiriGrey Proofreading Company, MirielleGrey, president and CEO. Any mistakes still here are my own fault.)
(Disclaimer: No, I don't own any part of the Potterverse. But there's a difference between ownership and stewardship.)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXVI: No Turning Back
*
"You're in a sealed room with Aurors inside and outside," Robards told Doukas with enforced calm. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, his hands in plain sight; the other MLE personnel in the room took their cue from him. "Portkeys, Apparation, and Floos are all blocked. Do you honestly think you're going to leave?"
"As a matter of fact, I think precisely that," said Doukas. "Since surely, keeping Weasley alive is more important than keeping me prisoner."
Ron, Hermione knew, was for once showing both sense and restraint. He didn't struggle against his captor, nor did he do anything to remind Doukas of the knife at his exposed neck. Only the clenched fists at his sides hinted at his eagerness to fight, given the slightest opening.
Doukas's eyes flicked briefly to the Enforcer before the door. "You. Unlock the door, then step away from it. The rest of you, stay back. Leave your wands where they are." He began to back slowly towards the door, keeping his face to the room, and keeping Ron as his shield.
Ron gave a dry cough and cleared his throat. "Uh, where are we…?"
"To the Apparation Point in the Atrium. Granger, I expect it to be unblocked by the time I arrive. Once there, I'll simply release your husband and be away."
"Having Obliviated him as well? That is why you sent him that message, asking him to come to the Ministry today?" Hermione retorted.
"He won't, Hermione," said Ron quickly. "He's just going to Apparate to safety. No wand, remember?" He emphasized this last bit as though relaying a secret under his captor's nose.
Doukas paused, scowling, just in front of the door. "What are you saying, Weasley?"
"Er, n-nothing, nothing," Ron stuttered. "Let's go. Sooner you're gone, the sooner I don't have a knife tickling me."
"Yesssss…" drawled Doukas suspiciously, still paused at the door. "It occurs to me," he said after a moment, "that you are only shielding me on one side."
"Um, well, there is only one of me…"
"And that between here and the Atrium, there are ample opportunities to be attacked from multiple directions. Surely that could not be why you are so eager to be taken there?"
"Furthest thing from my mind," Ron replied, in the tone of voice Fred and George had always used to proclaim their own innocence. Hermione was speechless at Ron's seeming ineptitude - was he trying to put Doukas on his guard?!
"Of course. But I think, just to be safe, I will have a wand after all. Your wand, Weasley. Which pocket?"
Ron sighed in defeat. "Front right."
"Excellent. Don't move." Doukas emphasized his last words with a slight increase in pressure on the knife tip into Ron's throat. Ron stood perfectly motionless as Doukas reached around him, into his pocket, and pulled out a wand.
"Now we can go. Your body on one side, a good Shield Charm on the other - SKATA!" As Doukas tried to use the wand to cast his shield, without warning it turned into a foot-long rubber haddock. In that instant of surprise, Ron shoved the hand holding the knife away from his throat, bent at the waist, and kicked backwards at Doukas's knee.
Doukas avoided the kick, but Ron's action gave the others in the room a clear shot at Doukas's torso - and Montagu, Robards and Hermione all fired their Stunners at the same moment. Dropping the fish and the knife, Doukas collapsed to the floor.
Ron, still standing, looked behind him at the fallen wizard. Then he stooped and retrieved the haddock, which he displayed to the room with a flourish. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," he cheerfully proclaimed. "Accept no substitutes."
*
We should all have seen it, Harry imagined himself explaining to Hermione. I mean, the Hallows are artifacts made by Death and given to mortals. Right? So what does that make the Arch?
He smiled to himself as he imagined Hermione's response, and his reply. No, it wasn't in the story of The Three Brothers, but so? Maybe the Arch wasn't made at the same time as the Wand, the Cloak and the Stone, or for the same reason… but Death had to've had a hand in its making. You can't tell me a physical portal to Death's kingdom could be built without Death's permission! Quacks like a duck, waddles like a duck… it's a Hallow.
He stood and stepped to the door again. Extending both hands, he pressed them against the barrier and leaned his weight into it. It was a bit odd, his hands feeling nothing solid but his body's weight supported from falling. He fixed his eyes on the fluttering Veil, allowing its random movements to mesmerize him.
For some reason, then, it must not want the other Hallows to join it. It's keeping them out - keeping me out, and keeping out everyone else, too, just in case. But again, why me? Is the Arch afraid I'm going to master it, the same way I mastered the other Hallows? Don't see how I could. It's a bit large to "possess"… I certainly couldn't cart it around as I do the first three.
But… but if I controlled access to it, that'd be mastering it, wouldn't it? Deciding which souls went Onward, which ones were trapped here… wow. Talk about playing God. If I controlled all four Hallows, I really would be Death's vizier. Hell, what could Death do that I couldn't?
It took a few seconds for this last bit of internal dialogue to be fully absorbed into Harry's head. When it did, he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He must have turned very pale, because Canby noticed. "Mister, um, sir? Is everything all right?"
Harry couldn't summon the coherence to answer, even to shake his head. Oh. My. GOD. The effects the Hallows are having on me! Not feeling emotion, not sleeping, not stopped by wards… Hermione was right, at some point I'd probably stop eating. But the Hallows aren't drawing me into Death's realm.
They're changing me into Death.
*
The two Aurors had taken Doukas to the holding cells, and there was a notable relaxation in the air of the conference room. "Well, now that your criminal has been captured, Gawaine," said Zabini with an almost affable nod to Ron, "perhaps you should authorize lifting the lockdown." He didn't wait for a reply, but turned to Shacklebolt. "Obviously, sir, this appalling turn of events has disrupted the Conference's morning session. I'd like to reschedule it to reconvene this afternoon, let's say at two." In a lower, confidential voice he added, "That will give me time to make sure Miss Weasley's doing all right."
Zabini again didn't wait for a reply, but turned to address the assembled delegates. He opened his mouth to speak, then paused and looked expectantly at Robards. "The lockdown?"
Robards, in turn, looked inquiringly at Hermione. She inhaled deeply. This is it, she thought, showtime. "There are still some threads that need untangling. I'm keeping the lockdown in place until then. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's necessary."
"Necessary how, Granger?" Zabini demanded. "You have the culprit. You'll soon have the proof. What more do you need?"
"A great deal." She raised her voice so that all in the room could hear. For her plan to work, she needed the audience. "Let's start with the fundamentals. Why were we attacked? Me, Ginny Weasley… and Ron was set up to be attacked, with a letter luring him here today. Why?"
Zabini shrugged. "Ask the prisoner. With Veritaserum, you should get the answers you want."
Possibly not, Hermione thought to herself. Doukas's incriminating memories have likely been sequestered, just as Lovinett's were. But this wasn't the moment to bring up that suggestion. "Fortunately, we already know why we were attacked. Remember, Doukas's intent wasn't physical harm, it was Obliviation. That's the Cartel's modus operandi. Their calling card, if you will."
"Ah yes, the international Cartel of crime." Without being overt, Zabini made it sound like something from a cheap detective thriller. "I understand there've been rumours of such a thing, but not much in the way of evidence." He looked around at the delegates and spoke to them. "There's certainly enough crime already crossing our borders… more than enough to require our full attention. No need to compound the problem by assuming the existence of criminal masterminds, surely?"
"Not so much of an assumption," came a voice from the crowd, and Volshev stepped forward. "I admit I was skeptical at first, but when your Minister contacted our Minister personally, I started taking it seriously. A little digging showed several cases, unsatisfactorily resolved… but easily explained, once we took Memory Charms into account. Memory Charms which would have to have been carefully orchestrated by a central authority."
The delegate from Denmark nodded in agreement. She lifted a file so all could see the case records she'd brought.
"Fine," chuckled Zabini, raising his hands in acquiescence, "fine. A Cartel. We'll make certain to give it higher priority when we set our agenda this afternoon. Along with our other pressing items…"
"I can't think of a more pressing item than a secret organization, flouting national boundaries and laws, attacking our citizens at will," Hermione shot back.
For the first time, Zabini looked irritated. "You're placing an awful lot of credence on some unconnected case files and the ravings of a Knockturn Alley pimp."
"Swivingham, you mean? You call them ravings? He did say he took his orders from the Cartel Lords…"
"Of course he did! He'd say anything to keep from going to Azkaban. He was desperate."
"Possibly." Hermione smiled sweetly. "On the other hand, he insisted that his becoming an informant be kept secret. He only told me and his attorney. Edwin Lovinett. Where did you hear about it, Zabini?" She paused, and helpfully added, "It wasn't from me."
His face darkened, but he made no reply.
"One might conclude it was from Lovinett, I suppose," she continued thoughtfully. "But Lovinett wasn't just Swivingham's attorney, he was Swivingham's murderer. He went into Swivingham's cell ready to cast the Imperius Curse, and force his client to kill himself. Which is odd, since Swivingham told Lovinett about the Cartel Lords the same moment he told me - Lovinett couldn't have gone in prepared to kill him. And moreover, Lovinett didn't seem to remember the conversation afterwards."
"Memory Charms," said Robards with a nod.
"Exactly. As Direktor Volshev put it, it's easily explained once Memory Charms are taken into account. Lovinett's in custody now…" Hermione noted with satisfaction how Zabini had gone very still at this. "And it turns out his memories were sequestered - by an expert. Fortunately, we have experts of our own." She deliberately left it there, not offering specifics.
"Wait then, wait," broke in Ron. "So this Greek chappie who nearly cut my throat just now - you're saying he wrote the note to me, to get me here, to Obliviate anything Ginny might have told me about Swivingham? And he Obliviated Ginny?"
"And tried to Obliviate me, too, yes," Hermione reminded him, somewhat tartly. "All to get at one specific memory of Ginny's."
"Not to mention my own Obliviation," Robards put in, "about Swivingham's agreement to testify against the Cartel Lords. Which was done the same night he was murdered - all less than twenty-four hours after he talked to Granger. How did you learn about Swivingham's agreement, Zabini?"
"Hey, maybe it was from Swivingham himself!" Ron loudly suggested. "Swivingham did attend your Fire Parties, after all."
"I don't appreciate your insinuation!" shouted Zabini angrily. "As though a… a lowlife scum like him would ever be invited as a guest in my home!"
"Not a guest," grinned Ron. "More like a caterer?"
"Weasley…!" Zabini began, then visibly took hold of himself. He turned to Shacklebolt and said, with icy dignity, "Sir, these are innuendo, pure mudslinging - charges that they can't prove and I can't defend. Worse than slander, they're irrelevant to any of our discussions on international crime, much less a nebulous Cartel."
"'Irrelevant'? Hardly," rejoined Hermione. "And you, of all people, should know that I don't make charges that I can't prove." Eventually, she amended silently, and raised a hand. "But to answer the Head's question: I'm well aware that you didn't hear about Swivingham's deal from Lovinett." With a smile, she dropped her bombshell. "Lovinett heard about it from you."
There was a moment of silence in the room as Hermione's words were digested - silence that immediately exploded into an uproar of voices, all demanding to know what Hermione meant. She had to raise both hands and call out several times before the hubbub subsided.
"Zabini knew on Friday night that Swivingham's elves would testify against him at his trial," she said, ticking off the points on her fingers. "He realized that Swivingham would plea-bargain with the Ministry: offer to lay information against the Cartel Lords in exchange for immunity. Zabini contacted Lovinett, and arranged for him to eliminate Swivingham - and to allow his memory of their agreement to be sequestered, so that he'd do the job never consciously knowing any of the details."
"Ridiculous!" Zabini scoffed, but Hermione saw a tic growing in one eye, and knew she'd cracked his façade. This might work after all, she assured herself.
"It might be, if it weren't true," she shot back at once, not giving him a moment's respite. "You ordered Swivingham's murder, and you ordered the Obliviation of Head Robards as follow-up. You tried to have me Obliviated that same night, as well… and today you almost succeeded."
"That… that is utter slander!" he shouted.
"It's only slander if it's not true!" Ron shouted back. Hermione shot him a quelling look, and he subsided for the moment.
She resumed, "As I said, Obliviation is the calling card of the Cartel Lords. I would imagine it was ibn al-Afrit who ordered it." Zabini sucked in breath as though struck in the stomach, and Hermione knew she'd struck home. She pressed her advantage. "It's his style. Castigni, after all, is more the bludgeoning type."
"Castigni?" asked the delegate from Italy, suddenly alert. "Ibn al-Afrit?"
"Lords of the Cartel," declared Hermione to the room at large. "International Lords of Crime. Invisible, all-pervasive - and associates of Blaise Zabini. They were guests at your manor last Friday, when you plotted together to protect your secrets - by murdering Jack Swivingham!"
"LIES! LIES! You have no proof!" Zabini screamed.
She raised her voice to match him. "Ginny Weasley was the proof! She saw them… she heard you! That's why the Cartel Obliviated her!"
"Easy to say, Granger, after her memory's gone! You spin accusations like cobwebs, with as little substance!"
"I said she was Obliviated - I never said her memory was gone." Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out the phial of silvery memory, holding it up for all the room to see. "She gave it to me, voluntarily, long before this morning's attack. Shall I show it to everyone now?"
Stunned into silence, Zabini stared in horror at the damning glass bottle in her hand.
"Oh, and rest assured, Zabini," Hermione added, with the air of one delivering the coup de grace, "Ginny Weasley's far from my only witness." With the phial in one hand, she raised her other hand and snapped her fingers.
And at that prearranged signal, with a loud crack, Fatima appeared in the conference room by Hermione's side. Brillig and the other elves had followed Hermione's instructions perfectly: Fatima was now dressed only in a diaphanous veil, bound around her waist with a slender chain. She remained silent, her gaze lowered, as instructed.
It was the final brick in the structure of the bluff Hermione had built. As she'd realized in the elves' quarters, the one who could most thoroughly implicate Zabini was Zabini himself. Though she knew she'd eventually have evidence against Zabini, at this moment, she didn't have it. Her only hope was to bluff, to stampede Zabini into incriminating himself.
Wizards didn't go into the Ministry elves' quarters, and she'd kept her six witnesses safely away from outside interference. There'd been a slight risk that Zabini had availed himself of Swivingham's "services" at some point, but Hermione had deemed it very slight. She was confident Zabini had never seen Fatima before. But he had seen her sister Ayesha: serving drinks to ibn al-Afrit that night in Zabini Manor.
Fatima looked very like her sister, and now they were dressed identically.
Hermione waited for the recognition to dawn in Zabini's face. She gauged his reaction carefully, and when she saw the first glimmer of panic, she spoke in a quiet but penetrating voice. "'Amazing, then, that you ever saw the need to approach me, Castigni'," she quoted, in a fair imitation of Zabini's voice. She smiled as Zabini's eyes snapped to glare at her. "'Or do you think your gains here would have been as great, or as rapid, without my aid?'"
"No… no…" He looked around the room wildly, his eyes coming to rest on Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Minister sat very still in his mobile chair, his expression as deliberately neutral as a judge's. Zabini breathed deeply and raised himself to his full height, regaining a measure of poise. "It's a house-elf," Zabini told the Minister, with just the right touch of disdain… but he couldn't completely rid his voice of something close to pleading. "It can be ordered to say anything…"
"Including the truth." Fatima had raised her gaze to stare stonily at Zabini. "Was no objection to elves speaking against Swivingham. Should be no objection now."
Perfect, Fatima, thought Hermione. She gestured with the phial. "Weasley's memory. Ibn al-Afrit's elves. Lovinett. All point to one conclusion: you've been working hand-in-glove with the Cartel Lords. When Swivingham threatened to spill all your secrets, you ordered him eliminated. You ordered me and Robards Obliviated. You ordered Ginny Obliviated…"
"No! Not Ginny! She was to be left alone! I would never hurt her, I love her!" Zabini protested.
Hermione smiled her half-smile of victory. She'd done it. She'd pushed Zabini over the edge - and everyone in the room, including the Minister, had heard what amounted to a tacit admission of guilt. Hermione opened her mouth to pronounce the indictment…
… and was interrupted by Ron thrusting his furious way forward to confront Zabini. "You did this to her, you Slytherin bastard!" he screamed, drawing his wand. "Goddammit, I knew you'd get my sister hurt!"
"Weasley, stand down!" Shacklebolt commanded.
Ron was too incensed to listen to anyone. He pointed his wand at Zabini's head, who glared back with a mix of anger and contempt. "Spare me your empty theatrics, you pitiful loser. You don't dare assault me."
For a brief moment Ron stood motionless, face ugly but his hand steady. He might have lowered his wand, obeying Shacklebolt's order, if Zabini hadn't chosen that moment to add with a smirk, "After all, even if your little wife gave you permission to do it, your sister is the one with balls in your family."
And Zabini immediately raised a Shield, as an enraged Ron fired a series of nasty hexes. He held the Shield in place at first, not counter-attacking, until Ron realized none of his hexes were penetrating.
Ron's next curse was Sectumsempra.
"No, Ron!" cried Hermione, and moved to intervene. The Conference delegates were starting to panic, most retreating to the far walls to be out of range of ricocheting curses. And Zabini, having ducked Ron's more vicious curse, was preparing to respond in kind: his wand was raised, and aimed at Ron.
Ron fired one more hex, which Zabini deflected. Then Zabini fired three curses in rapid succession. Ron dodged the first curse while trying to raise his own Shield… and almost had it in place when the second curse struck. It penetrated the half-formed Shield and sliced open his shoulder.
Even as Hermione stepped in front of Ron, her own Shield securely in place to cover them both, she saw in horror that Zabini's third curse hadn't been aimed at her husband. Fatima clutched her stomach with a gasp, then collapsed to the floor.
"Enough!" yelled Shacklebolt, trying to be heard over the tumult. His voice, gone reedy and thin, could barely be distinguished. "Zabini, Granger, stop this. You're endangering innocent bystanders!"
"I am not some ruffian to be set upon this way! Stupefy!" Zabini launched a Stunner at Hermione, but her Shield held firm, deflecting the spell into the floor. "Stand down, Granger! Your imbecilic husband fired first!"
Her only reply was a Stunner of her own. Again, Zabini blocked it.
"ENOUGH, I say!" Shacklebolt had reached the limit of his patience. He stood from his chair - and though his legs were shaky, the hand holding his wand was perfectly steady with years of Auror practice. "Incarcerous!"
Instantly, heavy ropes shot through the air, to entangle themselves around Hermione and Zabini. Bound from ankles to shoulders, arms pinned to their sides, the two adversaries glared at each other for one more moment before each lost their balance and fell to the floor.
"Brawling - in the very heart of the Ministry - putting bystanders at risk!" Shacklebolt snapped, trembling with outrage. He paused a moment, wheezing for breath, and continued, "Granger, I am appalled. Of all people, you should know better! And Zabini, even if you were defending yourself, your actions only compound the charges against you!" He paused again, gave a quiet gasp, and began once more, "Gawaine…" Then he stopped, gasped again, and fell heavily back into his wheelchair, one hand pressed to his chest.
*
Robards hadn't tried to stop the impromptu duel, once it had started - rather, his primary concern was to keep the assembled delegates from harm. He'd relaxed, slightly, when Zabini and Granger were hogtied: let them cool their heads, and the public rebuke would do them both good. He'd stepped forward to see to Weasley's injury when he heard the Minister's voice fail.
He turned his head, took in the emergency at a glance, and cast about for the Minister's Healer. But for once, there was no Healer accompanying Shacklebolt - the Minister had come to the Conference to meet with the delegates and promote an ideal, and bringing a Healer would have sent the wrong message. Now, when medical help was needed, there was none in the room. "Call for a Healer now!" he shouted at Montagu, as he sprinted to Shacklebolt's chair and knelt before it. "Sir? Sir?"
*
Zabini narrowed his eyes as he watched the commotion around Shacklebolt's chair. How fortunate, he smiled secretly. This couldn't be better. He'd kept hold of his wand - it was beneath the ropes, but still in his hand, still ready for use. And unlike Weasley, he didn't have to aim it to use it.
"Incarcerous," he mouthed without sound. He waited a moment, until he was sure the spell had taken effect… then he slipped the wand between his fingers and snapped it in two. It would be perfect: with his own wand broken, the spell couldn't be traced, and Kingsley Shacklebolt would take the blame. And from the sound of things, Shacklebolt wouldn't be available to defend himself. Then, once the dust had settled, he could smooth over his current predicament as he always had: a deft word here, a judicious donation there, and always a subliminal appeal to sympathies that so many wizards still held without even knowing.
*
Hermione had fallen facing away from the Minister's wheelchair. She winced as his rebuke echoed through the hall: yes, she'd had to engage Zabini in a wandfight, and she'd done her best to minimize injuries to the bystanders, but she still should have found a way to stop the duel before it had started. Then Kingsley fell abruptly silent - and Robards was calling for a Healer.
She tried to roll over, to see what was happening. Suddenly, new ropes appeared, winding themselves around her neck, her throat, her mouth. Her eyes bulged as the new ropes began to tighten… slowly, inexorably choking her.
Her cry for help was smothered by the ropes over her mouth. Her struggles to attract attention were lost amidst the furor around Shacklebolt's collapse. Her wand had fallen from her fingers when she'd been bound - and her attempt to summon a wandless, non-vocal spell was hampered by the increasing lack of oxygen.
No, she thought desperately as her vision went spotty, went grey, went black, no, please. Help me. Somebody help me.
Harry…
*
Harry had given up trying to blast through the barrier by raw power alone. He was trying a new tactic: letting his magic slither across the barrier like quicksilver. He was probing for fissures, cracks, any flaw in the barrier's "surface". If he found one, he'd focus all his resources on breaking that one point. All he needed was a thin tendril of magic reaching to the Arch, and he'd be able to cancel the barrier, he was sure.
The moment of intense cold took him aback. Harry recognized it immediately, of course: a soul passing Onward. It had happened before, the first time he'd confronted the barrier. He could feel the soul's gentle passing, delicate but freezing, as it went through his body, through the barrier, and (he knew) through the Veil.
Seconds later, right behind the departing soul, came a flurry of tiny creatures, winged and singing. The threnodies, attracted by the currents of Death. Fleetingly, Harry wondered what they would have to say about the person whose demise had attracted them…
And then his attention was not so fleeting, as the threnodies' song penetrated his brain. "Steadfast and true, like Phoenix song, he strove for right in midst of wrong. Let none the incorruptible mourn, who kinglike was a warrior born."
Harry felt his stomach clench. "Kinglike". Kingsley? That soul was Kingsley Shacklebolt? Dear Merlin, I knew he was ill, but I hoped he could last long enough for me to say goodbye once the Hallows were gone…
He didn't finish the thought. Another soul had wended its way to the doorway, and again Harry felt it as it passed. Its touch was feather-soft, as always, and piercingly cold, as always - but this time, Harry felt a pang as the soul went by, almost as though it were trying to reach out to him.
He sensed it pass into the Chamber and towards the Arch, and then a new flurry of singing threnodies swarmed around him. "She as an equal treated slave, and freedom's rights she fought to save. Her mind so quick, her heart so brave, her love to Chosen One she gave."
"No," a shocked Harry whispered.
"S-Sir?" asked Canby. The elf stepped back, fearful, as a nimbus of dark green energy began to form around Harry.
"No." He squeezed his eyes closed, forcing the tears out, and shook his head in denial. "No. NO! She can't be…!"
Desperately Harry launched himself at the barrier, and as before was barred from entering the Chamber. He could feel Hermione's soul now, flying through the Chamber and towards the Veil - flying Onward to Death's dark kingdom. For one anguished moment he even considered using the Resurrection Stone to stop her soul from departing - but he knew that, even if he succeeded, having her back that way would be a hollow mockery of what they might have had in life.
With all his vast power, there was nothing Harry could do to swerve her soul one iota from its path through the Veil.
Its path… through the barrier.
It's not impenetrable! Harry thought in sudden determination. The barrier's not impenetrable - a soul going through the Arch passes through the barrier first. Which means I can go through, too… if my intent isn't to reach the Arch, to possess the Arch as a Hallow… but to pass through the Arch.
Death owes me something for my good behavior all these years, I think. What was it Dumbledore said? "The true master does not seek to run away from Death." Fine, then. I don't seek to run from Death - I seek to meet Death. Through the Arch!
Awkwardly, he stumbled forward a step… then another, and another. With Canby watching in growing terror, Harry walked with increasing purpose through the doorway and into the Chamber… down each of the many steps that led to the ancient Arch.
I promised I wouldn't leave you again, Hermione. Wherever you go, there I will follow. And I will rescue you… or die trying.
And with that vow echoing in his head, he strode up to the Arch and without hesitation plunged through the Veil.