The stillness of the child in Petrana's arms makes something long dormant lurch unpleasantly in Atticus' gut, and he finds himself taking an involuntary step backward from the scene, as though putting distance between himself and that small body will also put distance between himself and that sensation. But it follows him; just beyond them the Fade gifts him with a glimpse of his own son as a small boy, picking flowers in the grass. Tavi is there just for an instant. When Atticus blinks, he's gone.

"It isn't real," he agrees quietly.

"You must let her be, Petra."

Behind them stands a young man clad in armor, his long brown hair loose around his youthful, sorrowful face. He looks as though he just strode direct from the battlefield into this pastoral paradise; blood is smeared and splattered across his exquisite plate mail, and smoke and ash have stained his cheeks and brow.

All of that is somewhat less attention-grabbing than the sword he carries. It's on fire.

Atticus approaches him slowly, looking over this Fade apparition with curious eyes. He turns to look back at Petrana, and that strange, uncomfortable feeling sinks its fingers into him again. He offers, "If you wish it, I can send him away."