there is a boy, and he is lying, broken on the ground. he is dead, and beside him is a small young woman with white hair and golden armor. she's knelt beside the boy, holding gently to her necklace. she is working on setting up a ritual that hopefully may bring this boy back from the dead.

bruised and bleeding, you're sat close by, fixing your gun. the thing is broken after your last misfire and it needs tending to in case anyone else wants to come for your group, an aftermath meant to meet grog unawares perhaps. some of the goliath may still not be happy with the death of kevdak. some may still feel the sting of it. there could be stragglers, there—

you thought keyleth was helping pike with this, but you watch as she tries to bring her earthly healing into the mix. she's tired, spent, and there's a defeated look on her face as pike's brow twitches. she's bearing the brunt of this... she can't...

she can't do it alone.

your friends struggle for a boy broken on the battlefield of torn up cobblestones and dirt. as pike chants in her soft celestial language, known only to her through the everlight, through her training as a cleric, you recognize it from your lessons—

(a memory within a memory—your sister, ignoring lessons, blowing spit darts at you, loving you even through your grumbling sighs)

—celestial.

you look down at your gun, jammed and broken. it will cost money. time.

the boy... the boy dead on the ground. he doesn't have time.

you had time.

slowly, you holster your gun and rise to your feet. you listen to pike, her sweet voice straining upwards on its own, a plea to the greater gods above, you find yourself opening your mouth and recalling those lessons, where cass would sneak out and leave you to answer eagerly instead. you hum along with the tone of pike's voice, seeing her eyes meet yours, and at once... you both begin to sing.

the sound is... angelic, soft, warm, and as you bring yourself down to your knees, you touch the ground just beside the boy's hand, you take it in your own, and you sing for the first time in a while, in a language you know isn't meant for someone wretched like you, but maybe. maybe you can prove that it has a home here in your throat, as your harmonizing with pike begins to grow, and a third, disembodied voice begins to accompany you, created from the tones that you and pike sing with one another. angelic, pleading, sweet and melodic and foreign, words without words. when you sing, you reach for old hymnals of the dawnfather's ever-loving embrace, the protective boughs of the sun tree holding its beloved people forever and ever, as deep as its roots furrow—

the boy gasps to life.

he sputters.

he lives and you look downwards, ignoring the heat that builds in your face, the pain beneath your eyes. there you go. live another day.

pike looks to you, her eyes soft, tired, but grateful.

"thanks for helping, percy," she says.

you shake your head. "no... that was lovely... thank you."

keyleth jams a potion of healing into the boy's mouth and you help so not a drop spills, wiping his chin with your thumb and holding him steady with keyleth's help.