You stand from your work. This is more important.
Lora waits while you limp to John and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know what this means to you," you murmur.
"...I'm scared," he admits, in a low whisper.
"Most people are, when they're about to die. What can I tell Emily from you?"
John looks away. "...Tell her how I died. I don't want her hearing it from the Roost. You tell her true for me. Tell her...tell her I'm sorry."
"I will," you promise.
Lora sets her blade into the stone and wrenches it with her wrist. It splits cleanly, length-wise, down the center, leaving a long sliver of sword vibrating in the stone.
"It will need sharpening on the back end," Lora tells you. "It will need a hilt, and a pommel stone. I suggest onyx."
"What are you going to do?" you ask.
"You were my first heritor. But there is another first that I yet have at my disposal, and there is nothing else I can do to protect Emily from here."
The angel spreads her wings and /booms/. You've heard her speak in the Divine Tongue before, but where her other statements were whispers, songs, this is a /proclamation/. You catch Emily's name somewhere in the storm of phrases, and then it settles.
"John of the Broken Jaw, I name Emily the Chosen of Death," Lora pronounces.
"What." you say, before you can stop yourself.
Lora lunges with her half a blade, piercing John's heart cleanly. The draug slumps to the floor, an expression of peace on his face, while you stare, slack-jawed, at the angel.
"I gave her your name and told her to seek you in the levels above," Lora tells you. "I have to go."
"Lora, wait," you protest, but the fog is already claiming her.
After a moment, she is gone.
"My queen?" Fetch asks.
"I...give me a moment," you tell him, and you get back to work on the Diviner's corpse, because here at least is a job you can fucking finish.