...but foresight is a blessing.

It took them another five minutes to actually get out of the door of the room, thanks to a mix of John repeatedly failing to get dressed, and the reason he kept failing. Namely, Velvet stealing kisses, then giggling at his dumbstruck reactions. A loop that continued until he eventually managed to pull his clothes on and control himself.

…Well, actually, she controlled herself, not him. She eventually stopped, taking pity on him after the third time he tried to put his jeans on with both legs in the same hole.

Eventually, with an additional attempt failed thanks to putting his shirt on backwards, the two of them made their way out into the empty corridor. John was a little surprised by that, and under different circumstances, he’d have been almost upset. Not because nobody was waiting to see if he was okay, he didn’t really expect that, but because he would have worked himself up worrying and freaking out about having to face the music when he opened the door, and there would have been nothing.

As it was, he was too busy trying to walk in a straight line whilst stealing looks at Vel- his girlfriend, that was, with a dopey smile stuck on his face.

He got away with it for almost a full minute of walking, too. Velvet’s face steadily grew rosier as the seconds passed, her own smile almost hidden as she looked away at the floor, but after the third time John glanced at where he was going and had to steer the pair of them away from colliding with a wall or furniture, the blind girl laughed brightly and softly scolded him, “John, pay attention! I don’t want to stub my toe, and since I don’t have my cane, that’s your responsibility.”

John’s smile grew, just in response to her in general. Her words, her voice, her laugh, her scolding, her face, all of it. It was an almost wordless sense of joy bubbling up inside his chest, and his smile and the squeeze of her hand in his were the outlets. There was only one thought repeating in the midst of that wonderful sensation, ’Velvet is my girlfriend. Velvet is my girlfriend. Velvet is my girlfriend!’

“Sorry, I just- I can’t believe it. You’re- And- I’m- Gah!” John clamped his lips closed as his ability to form coherent speech temporarily took a nosedive, even as Velvet giggled.

She squeezed his hand back, then released it. “I am. You are. But, I think Moira’s about to-”

“John!” Moira exclaimed as she exited a room, closing the door behind her, and saw the two of them, then hurried over. Her eyes scanned over his body, flicking across his limbs and likely taking in more information in those scant milliseconds than John could get from an Observe window and a full minute of observation. “You’re well? Unharmed? I feared-”

Velvet reached out and gently touched the redhead’s wrist, drawing her to silence whilst John barely processed enough of the rapid-fire questions to blink a couple of times. The paladin took a sharp breath and held it a long moment, as John’s mind caught up, then she slowly released it, a facade of calm coming over her.

But, either it was the first time he could notice it or it was just the first time that he’d seen her like this, John was able to pick up on the faint tremor in her leg from holding still and the hint of repressed panic still in her eyes as she looked at him.

John smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “I’m alright, Moira. No worse for wear, honest. You don’t have to worry.”

Her soft exhale might have said she believed him and relaxed, if not for how every other part of her disagreed. Her eyes dropped from his. “I…”

She was quiet for a long moment, before taking another breath and squaring her shoulders before she said, “I apologise, John. I should never have argued for you to come along. I knew they would be hunting you, but- It was my mistake, one I cannot- That is to say-”

John interrupted her, a twinge in his chest from the sight of this confident woman stumbling over her words spurring him on, “No, no, Moira, it’s not your fault. No way. I was- I was being stupid, I would have fought to go along anyway. You really didn’t do anything, honest.”

“But I also didn’t try to stop you.” Her eyes lifted to his again, upset shockingly clear in the emerald green for a moment, before she blinked and turned her eyes away from them both, looking at the wall on one side with a fixed stare. “I promise to you, I’ll improve. I won’t make such a mistake again, I swear. And should you ever need anything, just ask.”

An elbow nudged his ribs and drew his attention to his dark-haired girlfriend, who was miming a hug emphatically. John looked at Moira’s rigid posture, her fixed gaze on the wall, and only considered for half a moment how terrible an idea this would be, then took half a step forwards and wrapped the redheaded paladin into a hug.

An awkward hug. At least, it definitely felt awkward. He wasn’t the best at hugs, with his only practice being his mom for the past 18 years until Velvet, but even if he’d been the best, Moira’s body language was stiff and surprised. A long couple of seconds passed like that.

He was just about to pull away and apologise for the thoroughly discomforting embrace when her arms slowly rose and held around him in return, her body relaxing… slightly. It was enough. Instead of holding Shield Warden Moira Brighton of the Golden Rose, that slight relaxing felt like hugging hopefully a friend Moira.

This close, he picked up on things he’d never really noticed before. The faint scent of rosewater that permeated her skin, for example. Or how her blazing red hair had strands of copper buried faintly within.

She pulled away slightly, and John matched her, stepping back beside Velvet, who once again slipped her hand into his.

Moira was looking down at the ground, and John caught a glimpse of red cheeks when she lifted her head slightly and opened her mouth to speak.

A door slammed open a short ways down the corridor, the same that Moira had come through before, and a figure stumbled through, practically throwing her body weight around. Definitely a woman, with a slender and beautiful body, hinted at through her flowing and chaste robes of dove grey and gold trim. A long braid tossed around at her back as she moved, and when her head snapped to the side to face where the three of them stood, featureless milky white eyes met his own with unnerving accuracy.

Moira startled, then took a step as if to help the woman as she tried to speak, “Lorelei? What-”

The slight woman shot down the corridor towards them, stumbling and uncoordinated. In response, Moira moved again to try and support her, when a voice boomed out from the door again, preceding the man’s figure, “Leave her! It is the Sight!”

Lord Brighton cut into the hall, sharply turning the corner as he strode to catch up. At his words, Moira’s cautious hands extended in support halted, then pulled back, and she stepped aside, allowing the white-haired woman space to move. She offered a brief explanation, fortunately, at least, “She is a seer, of the Varnik line. Her visions are granted by the Lady. She-”

Moira cut off, rearing back slightly in surprise as the Seer almost lunged forwards to grasp John’s forearm. A tremor ran through her slender grip so strong that John reached to support her weight without thought, even as she began speaking in a strangely resonant tone.

"One cursed in ice, another blessed in blood. They walk the path, kin by choice, by deed, by care. One is wreathed in shadow, another alight with flame. Colours run and dash and dance, dance, always retreating from sight. The path withers and rots. One is lost, caged. Golden discs etched in forgotten tongues. The other... stands before a fork. The other walks on, alone, and becomes one. A path that dips from sight. The other dives, seeks, hunts. A path lit in Her light. The Flame flickers in rot, spins, twirls, dances with decay. If the other fails, the one will warp. If the one dies, the other will warp."

The blind seer shuddered, and slumped into John’s grip as she fell silent again. John glanced up at the others as he shifted his weight to better support the surprisingly frail woman.

Velvet’s brow was drawn, her unseeing eyes directed in his general direction, clearly in thought. Similarly, Lord Brighton’s thick eyebrows almost formed a solid line, and a hand slowly rubbed at his jawline. Moira was the only one seeming to not consider the seer’s words in the slightest, instead fully focused on the woman in question, concern clearly painted on her features.

“Lorelei…? Are you… alright?”

The woman in his arms, Lorelei, sighed with a tangible exhaustion, but slowly pulled herself back upright, supporting herself again. “I am, noble Warden. Thank you for your concern. I was somewhat overwhelmed by the intensity of the vision, as strong as any I have received pertaining to your own guidance.”

“Yes,” Lord Brighton rumbled slowly, his gaze considering. “And what you saw… An understanding is apparent to me, yet… you spoke of Her light, Seer Varnik? The Lady’s?”

Lorelei nodded slowly and firmly. “There are few things that I may claim to be certain of in the visions that my gift grants, my Lord, and Her will numbers first among them.”

The elder paladin’s hand dropped from his chin, and he nodded once, resolutely. “Then we must find ‘the other blessed in blood’. I do not know how the rest of your words will realise themselves, the talk of gold and rot, but this much was clear to me. I know of the one cursed in ice, and where this ‘other’ must seek them. Have you any other details to offer?”

The blind seer’s head dipped slightly in thought, even as a creeping suspicion began to curl in John’s gut. Her words cemented it, “I… I hesitate to say it, for it seems impossible, yet the memory of my Sight rings with its truth. I believe they are blessed by the Lady.”

This time, both of the Brighton generations reared back as if struck, but John was uncomfortably aware of the sensation of Velvet’s gaze on him, and the realisation that he didn’t have a choice but to share the truth now. He bit the inside of his cheek, terrified and anxious at the mere thought of it, until he tasted the tang of iron.

Then, forcing the words out before he could regret it, the Gamer blurted, “It’s me.” He cringed from the intensity of the eyes that snapped on to him, and continued, “My powers, they come from, uh, Gaia? When Velvet told me about her the first time, I got an achievement for saying the name of my patron, the one that gave me all the magic stuff.”

A thought finished churning through his mind in the few silent moments that followed, and his tone dropped into a more thoughtful, absentminded one, as he was momentarily distracted, “...And technically, I chose the berserker class so I could fight Toby, and then killed him, so the actual abilities I have-”

“Were blessed in blood.” Lord Brighton finished, eyes narrowed and jaw tight, expression carefully neutral. “I see.” The elder paladin considered John for a long, tense moment. “I will not trust in the words of a late bloomer teen that he heralds the first external sign of the Lady’s presence upon our world in centuries. Yet, even so, that does not need to be truth for you to suit the role of ‘other’, certainly considering who plays the role of the ‘one cursed in ice’.”

John looked up at the man, meeting his eyes directly for the first time that day, asking, “Who?” even as pieces tumbled together at the hint provided, offering the answer he knew Lord Brighton would give.

“Your mentor, Erica Carpenter.”