"Are you sure?" "There is simply no other conclusion we can reach, Your Majesty," the old, frail-looking Holy Priest said. He was the highest member of the priestly Hierarchy left, an ancient man come out of seclusion from some faraway monastery. "Several eyewitnesses saw the heretic enter the Holy Place of Murond, wherein took place some unholy bloodbath, which all but destroyed the Temple Knights. Those remaining Knights said that they saw him make his way to the hidden city beneath, which previously had been nothing more than a legend- through unholy magic, Your Majesty. He had the Germonik Scriptures. Later-" the old man paused, pursing his lips together. "Later?" Ovelia said tersely, too upset to be polite. "The entrance to the hidden city was also destroyed, Your Majesty. None of the best priests or knights could find a way through the wreckage, if indeed the collapse did not destroy the city itself. Not even His Majesty himself, when he tried. No one, by that token, could have escaped from it." Ovelia shut her eyes, trying to block out the sudden tide of grief which surged through her, an inconstant pain. Alma dead? And Ramza? Impossible. Yet.. it had to have happened. The head of the Royal knights had said much the same thing, and she knew that they at least were loyal to her. She didn't see any way they could have survived. Alma, her only friend, and Ramza, her brother, who had once rescued her and more than once saved her life. Ramza, whom she had come to believe embodied the finest qualities this mortal world offered: integrity, honor, justice. His was true nobility. Now he was gone, it was fitting that the world she had believed in came crumbling to ruins around her. Delita had caused his death. That much she was sure of, for there was no one else who could. Ramza was brave and true and of the light, like Saint Ajora, and like Saint Ajora, he could only have been defeated by treachery.