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bedtimegiraffe · 19 days ago

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I'm glad you were inspired! Anyone in the party could absolutely be impacted by the Onyx Shards. Good choice of moment too- Syrum would be pretty emotionally overwhelmed at the horror of the Temple sacrificing people and losing hope in getting Kade back.

As always, I really like the little gestures you added to the party. They characterize them so well!

Chapter 14: City of Horrors

This chapter in particular is very all over the place trying to jot out all the different What If’s and make them coherent. If there’s anything I can do to make it more obvious, do let me know.

As well as letting you know, the opening What If before it breaks off to ‘rewrite’ is one I made up myself inspired by a conversation I had with bedtimegiraffe , just so you don’t think I’ve somehow secretly unlocked something. Trigger mentions for Suicide and Self Harm in this one specific first one I created. Please skip to the first OR BOLAS OR to avoid it if you wish.

-LINE BREAK-

The prisoners still plead helplessly below, their anguish and fear as strong as the blue light weaving its way to freedom for them. You can’t tell how many are down there… women and men, some as young as you… their faces blur together, the words fading around the edges of your vision… it hurts to think, but everything is crystal clear as you just… look at them…

There’s a whisper, a shadow flickering at the edge of your vision. This was wrong, and you had to do something about it… and go right for the source. It was the only way.

Something inside of you shatters, never to be repaired as you scream, and throw yourself at Solerne.

Chaos ensues as your friends cover you, helping the others escape, holding off guards, but all you can do is twist, dodge his blast of magic, watch the fear dawn in his eyes as you tackle him to the ground and slam your fist into his face. “You promised! You said you’d help them! You’re killing them- he’ll die- Stop, let me go! I’m gunna to kill him, I swear by all the gods I will- ”

‘Yes, kill him,’ the voice in the back of your mind whispers, eggs you on. ‘It might even bring Kade back, it could help…’

The voice was right, a life for a life could work, and it would be someone who deserved it!

Someone has you, tight, as you writhe and snarl like a feral wraith, kicking, twisting, clawing. Flecks of blood are flying strangely through the air from you… pooling around those white robes…

Tyril’s arms are unmoved, dragging you slowly away towards the altar. “Enough, Syrum-”

A body goes whizzing past, and the world slowly, painfully burns itself back to reality as you see Imtura roar with rage, taking on the few acolytes who dare oppose her. She’s a powerhouse all her own as she easily breaks their weapons and disarms them, kicking and shouldering them away, every one of them groaning in pain when she’s done as they land, alive. Nia and Mal are in the pit, freeing the prisoners and setting them loose.

Something hurts… your hand. You gaze blankly down at it, seeing where your knuckles had split… blood slowly drips out in a strange pattern down your wrist.

“Let me go,” you say cold, flat, trying to shove him away again. Not to go back any longer, just to- to-

He hesitantly releases you, but is in your face at once, hands on your shoulders, forcing you to meet his eyes.

The whispers are gone, but, there’s nothing left in their place.

“Is he-”

“No,” Tyril says quietly, though you’re not sure why he’s so confident until you hear the faint, low moan of pain. You feel nothing once again, trying to look away-

“Syrum,” he shakes your shoulders, refusing to let you. His grip is molded to you, unyielding, but gentle. “Look at me.”

Something’s still very wrong, you struggle to do so… but when you finally manage it, blinking and focusing just on this task, you see nothing but concern on his face. “You’re not a killer. Not like that. Do you hear me? Kade wouldn’t want that for you. That was not the right way, you know that.”

“Oh, so you can lop off people’s heads, but I lose my temper for five damned seconds and I’m unhinged?!” You rage back at him.

“It’s not the same Syrum, there was no corruption-”

“I-” hate burns through you as you glower at him. For his perfect composure, for the way he could walk off and go back to Undermount. For Nia instantly trying to leap in to help, for Mal always one step ahead of you all, for Imtura’s practiced ease of towing that line.

The world gives out beneath you, and you fall into his arms as it bursts out in a mangled noise of hate at the entire world. You still can’t feel your broken hand, but you know you’ve messed it up by the way it feels funny digging into your temples alongside the other one.

Tyril is still holding you close, pressing you tight to him. You crumple into his arms, hearing your friends shouts, but you just don’t care anymore. He seems to know that, his grip growing painfully tight for the first time, the hint of losing control. “Don’t give up on us, on this quest. Just because this didn’t work- we will try another way, every way-”

“We got to go, now!”

You feel Tyril lift you up, but you don’t care. You just don’t care about anything anymore as you watch from someone else's eyes on the world as Nia carefully collects the shards, Mal guiding the freed prisoners out, Imtura barricading the door and yelling at you all to get a move on… it doesn’t matter. Nothing feels like it will matter ever again. You finally lost, and the shadows won.

…

“-STOP! I can’t take any more promises, just go away!” Syrum snaps, tries to storm off, but there was nowhere to go as they weren’t running anymore, looking all around as if just spotting his surroundings for the first time in the abandoned old home on the edge of Whitetower.

“But we won’t,” Nia takes his wrists, healing magic blessing from one skin to the next, refusing to let him put any more space between them all inside this rundown building. Almost right back where they’d started so long ago. Different city, same miserable dark corner. He doesn’t even seem to notice his hand is healed as he clenches it tight. “Do you hear me? We aren’t leaving you.”

Syrum’s face screws into such a twisted, painful expression… but he doesn’t resist as she pulls him close. They couldn’t run anymore, they just needed this moment to breathe. She hugged him tight, even as he just gasps and lets her without embracing her back. Slowly, gently, Nia lowers them down onto the clean piles of hay, and hums softly to him until silence fills the tower at last from his ragged breathing.

Tyril sits in front of Mal, watching him sharpen his knife in darkness. Syrum and Nia sleep in a pile in the meager bedding directly behind him. Only Tyril can hear Imtura pacing softly outside, keeping guard as they change shifts.

“How is he?” Tyril asks, soft as a match strike.

“Same,” Mal grunts, twisting his trusted knife this way and that to check the edges. “Nia finally got him to sleep, think she smothered him into it actually.”

There is silence for a long time, but neither of them move. Staring at each other, waiting for the other to say it first.

“You’ve had experiences with, this,” Mal is finally the one to break it, of course. He flicks a finger over his shoulder needlessly, eyes boring into Tyril. “What made you decide against going through with it?”

Tyril swallows. This was not something he’d ever anticipated having to discuss with anyone.

“Look,” Mal brushes an impatient hand through his hair. “You’re not the only one, okay. We hide the knives and we, we do whatever he needs to keep going. My sister is why I, didn’t. It was a pretty close call some nights, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her finding out. I’m just wondering if I’m missing something, particular here.”

“Perhaps once, that was true for Syrum as well, but I believe that is why he has, quit,” Tyril finally says softly after a very long moment. Threep sits upon Syrum’s chest, purring so loud and hard it’s a miracle he hasn’t awoken. “He’s lost faith he’ll get Kade back. That priest-” Tyril forces himself to stop lest the room begin smoking from their rage. “Syrum’s had this idea in his head since he started on this trek of where this would end, as you have all told me.” The anger that burned around the room as the Temple’s windows twinkled faintly in the distance was a spark that kept him going.

“As you said, we’ll just have to find some way to fight for him until he gets that back…” Tyril sighs, the soothing sound of the wet stone carving over the blade easing his muscles into relaxing stroke by stroke. “For me, it was, I finally told myself it was the coward's way out, at the last moment. That I was, quitting, letting the Shadow Court win. That’s what made me get back up and find out everything I could of what had happened to Kaya.”

“Don’t think calling him a coward is going to fix this, but hells, I’m willing to try,” Mal mutters in frustration.

“We need a plan. We need…” Tyril trails off in painful frustration, fingers strangling the material of the sack that holds the shards. “We need to go back to the castle, and consult Aerin. He has some knowledge of this, he gave Syrum those Lore Tablets. I, frankly, am open to any other ideas here, but can think of none myself.”

Mal made a very displeased face… but then hesitated, and nodded. “Think his little crush is enough to get us out of being on the lamb? I haven’t noticed any guards after us either.”

“Exactly,” Tyril nods. “And Nia mentioned that orb. Solerne will find us, we cannot just flee.”

“All right, we’ll head back there at first light,” Mal agrees restlessly with no more clue what else to do… “you admit I agreed with this plan and I’ll deny it by the way.”

Tyril gives him a soft smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

OR BOLAS OR

The prisoners still plead helplessly below, their anguish and fear as strong as the blue light weaving its way to freedom for them. You can’t tell how many are down there… women and men, some as young as you… their faces blur together, the worlds fading around the edges of your vision… it hurts to think, but everything is crystal clear as you just… look at them…

They’re nearly drowned out by Imtura’s shout. “So you get to decide to sacrifice their lives!? You're just gonna kill them?!”

He frowns reproachfully at her as if shouting was unseemly at a time like this. “These people are prisoners. They have nothing to contribute to society. At least this way, they’re accomplishing something.”

“You foul- loathsome-” Threep takes to the air, spitting and hissing, wings holding him aloft with ease.

“They’re still human beings!” Nia pleads, never taking her eyes off the pit. “Our flock, our responsibility! As agents of the Light, we’re supposed to protect them, to heal them!” She stamps on Mal’s foot, who still doesn’t release her. “Not to be used for sacrifice!”

Solerne’s grip tightens on his staff for the first time as he frowns at her. “What is our calling if not sacrifice? We give a small bit of life to help so many others!” He takes a calming breath, and whatever close to shouting he’d been getting to levels out. “If the Shadow Court returns, hundreds of thousands will die! What are fifty lives to save them all? Would you rather the whole world burn?”

“I-” Nia chokes on a sob. “I don’t-” She stammers herself into silence, folding to the floor. Mal tentatively releases her, but his hand hovers as the weight of it all bearing down on her makes her gasp.

OR BOLAS OR

“Nia,” your voice breaks, but the urgency in you to see her very self withering in pain over this finally startles something in you to do, something. “You know this isn’t right. This isn't who you are! This isn’t what you stand for!” Fear- panic- she’s not folding to this, you know that stronger than you’ve ever known anything.

“I, I know,” she gasps, her little fingers tightening into fists. She begins to rise.

“Oh Nia,” he sighs, and the maternal grandfatherly figure he was, was quickly sapping away. It’s, absent, lacking something to keep the charade up. “I had worried about this. Your time away from the Temple has tainted your purity.” He gives you all a filthy look, Mal and Imtura in particular. “These low-born mercenaries have clouded your judgement. Turned you from the Light!” He takes a step closer… a very foolish or brave thing to do considering Imtura and Mal already had a weapon in hand. “Remember who your real family is, Nia! It’s the Temple. Not these heathens!”

Nia breathes deeply, trembling, but when she looks up at the Priest, her eyes burn with fury. “You’re wrong. All you’ve ever seen me as is a pawn to be used. If I didn’t have the Light, if I didn’t have magic, you never would've thought twice about me! They- Mal, Tyril, Imtura, Syrum- they are more of a family to me than you’ve ever been! They believe in me! And they’ve helped me believe in myself.”

The air around Nia trembles, wavering with power. “And I am telling you. This is wrong!”

OR BOLAS OR

You can’t do anything, feeling chained, tethered in your mind as if you were down there with those people, being held hostage by something greater as you just, gape.

Mal moves forward to say something, but you raise a hand, stopping him with a look. To your amazement, he freezes. Your voice sounds hollow as you look at her on her knees. “She’s got this.” It’s the only thing in the world you know right now. Nia could fix this, somehow…

“I,” she looks up, her eyes sunken and lost. “I am torn, High Priest. This can’t be what we have to do.”

“Difficult choices are what the Light demands,” he reminds, patient as ever, rubbing his thumb up and down his staff and watching it and her alternatively. “Trust in its wisdom. Heed its call. Listen to it, deep inside.”

Nia takes a long, deep breath. “I am, High Priest. I’m listening to the Light, and it’s telling me this is wrong.”

Solerne sighs wearily. “Oh, Priestess. This is what I feared. Your journey has corrupted you. Driven you from the Light. Poisoned your faith with doubt and fear. These, companions, of yours, these low-born mercenaries,” he shakes his head pitifully, not even looking around at the rest of you as his eyes stay on Nia. “They’ve tainted your purity.”

Nia breathes deeply, trembling, but when she looks up at the Priest, her eyes burn with fury. “No. You are wrong. They- Mal, Tyril, Imtura, Syrum- they haven’t corrupted me, they believed in me! They let me discover myself, my voice, my strength, my faith! I believe in myself more than ever.”

The air around Nia trembles, wavering with power as she rises. “And I am telling you. This is wrong!”

Solerne tutts, turning away. “Then you are lost. Fine. I shall mourn your promise later. But you will not stop this ritual!”

Mal steps forward, steel glinting in his hands. “Yeah, see, actually, we will.”

Solerne doesn’t seem to know what to do with all this defiance as he frowns in confusion at him. “You, you would draw arms here? In the holiest of sites?”

Tyril joins him, hand on his blade. “You move to slaughter the defenseless. There is nothing holy about that.

“I wish I could say this man has been corrupted by the Shadow,” Threep moans, perched as ever on Nia’s shoulder. “But all I sense is age-old human selfishness.”

“Fools!” Solerne shakes his head somberly, taking that step back. “All of you! Can’t you see this is necessary? This will prevent far greater tragedy!”

Imtura unsheathes her axes, cracking her shoulders. “Funny thing about choosing the lesser evil. It’s still evil. And I ain’t standing for that.”

“Release them. Now.” Your voice sounds strange to your ears.

Solerne raises a fist, and three priests run forward, leveling their staves at you all. “Drop your weapons! In the name of the Light!”

“Please,” Nia spreads her palms, shaking, and not moving an inch back from where she is between you all. “We’re all on the same side, we don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then surrender to the inevitable!” Solerne snaps briskly.

The priest's staves glow with magical energy, hot and white.

“So we’re doing this huh?” Mal says calmly, giving his knife a little twirl. “We’re really doing this?”

OR BOLAS BOLAS OR

“So we’re doing this huh?” Mal says calmly, giving his knife a little twirl. “We’re really doing this?”

“I have a plan!” Nia promises. She springs into action without further ado, leaping forward, digging into Mal’s pack, and pulls something out. Something green, pulsing, flaring with odd light… an odd purple egg on the top like a little kids toy wand…

The egovore stalk.

“Nia, what are you-”

Before you can finish, Nia whips the stalk forward, infusing it with her magic. “Close your eyes!” You all do without hesitation. The others weren’t so lucky. Her magic flares through the stalk, blasting out across the assembled priests.

“Wha- what is-”

“What have you done!?” Solerne demands.

And all of them collapse, slumping down in a gentle sleep.

“What, was, that?” Mal asks blankly like he hadn’t seen the power of that creature first hand.

Tyril is just as stunned. “You used your Light to blast the egovore’s dream pheromones all over the room, and into all the Priests?”

Nia pants, slumping against a pillar. “I read about it in a tome of experimental magic… I’m glad you had that on hand guys.”

Imtura prods one of the sleeping guards with the toe of her boot. “Oh yeah. They’re out cold,” she agrees in delight.

Mal frowns as he tucks his knife away. “Kind of a shame. I was hoping to deck that High Priest myself.”

Nia’s still shaking, there’s a dull detached panic on her face you know all to well you still hadn’t shaken out of. “Did I, did I do the right thing?”

You can’t help a hysterical laugh. “Nia, you just saved all of these people, and you did it without anyone getting hurt! Tell me, what does the Light say?”

“But the ritual… your brother…” she murmurs desperately, eyes vacant, empty as they track around like a lost lamb as the blue light of their life begins to dissipate in the air.

“We’ll find another ritual,” you say adamantly, refusing to believe anything otherwise.

Nia lets out a strangled sob. “I don’t know if there is one-”

You step forward and pull her into a hug. “Then we’ll keep trying. It’s not what he would have wanted,” you hope she knows how deeply you mean that as you stare with utter contempt at the Shards upon the altar. “Not like this.”

“You're right,” she bites back a sob as she steps forward and hugs you. “Not like this.”

Tyril gently steps over Solerene’s prone form and crosses to the altar. He wraps the Shards back up in his cloth…

OR BOLAS OR

“So we’re doing this huh?” Mal says calmly, giving his knife a little twirl. “We’re really doing this?”

“Look, we have a lot of gold. Stand down, and I’m sure we can figure something out,” you say wildly.

“You dare try to bribe us? The only gold we seek is the blessing of the light!” One of the priests snap.

Well it seemed reasonable to you considering they clearly only cared about themselves. Maybe an offering would at least smooth this over-

The tip of her staff glows with Light, but before she can fire, Imtura leaps forward with a roar of fury. She sends the priest flying back with a vicious shoulder smash, then rams her forehead into another, knocking him out cold.

Mal’s dagger whirls across the room, the elven butt of the blade hitting the third priest in the face.

With a growl, Solerne steps over the unconscious priests. “Fine then. I’ll handle you myself.”

He levels his staff at you, the tip blazing with Light. But before he can fire, Nia throws herself in front of you.

OR BOLAS OR

“So we’re doing this huh?” Mal says calmly, giving his knife a little twirl. “We’re really doing this?”

“Sure seems like it,” Imtura agrees, moving fluidly into her Kaytar form.

Your party and the priests all stare each other down, weapons ready, waiting for someone to make the first move.

OR BOLAS OR

“So we’re doing this huh?” Mal says calmly, giving his knife a little twirl. “We’re really doing this?”

Your party and the priests all stare each other down, weapons ready, waiting for someone to make the first move.

“Listen to me,” you say urgently, sliding up to be beside Nia, half convinced this is all a terrible dream… a very convoluted nightmare at least. “I know this is a difficult situation, but I know this isn’t why you all joined the Temple of Light. You joined to serve, like Nia. To help people. To make the world better. To protect the vulnerable. If you cross this line, if you follow your High Priest… there’s no coming back from it. You’ll carry this slaughter for the rest of your lives. And you will never again feel the blessing of the Light.”

The priests look at each other nervously, and then one drops her staff. “He is right. I won’t do it.” With nods of their own, they all hastily drop their weapons with shock on their faces, as if not quite believing what they’d been about to do.

Solerne shoves through them with a growl. “Fine. If you fools won't do it, I will.”

He levels his staff at you, the tip blazing with Light. But before he can fire, Nia throws herself in front of you. “You will not hurt my friends!”

A blast of blinding light erupts from her palms and flings the High Priest back from the altar.

“Ugh!” He snarls, pushing his white robes aside as he rolls back to his feet with surprising agility. “How dare you?!” He staggers back forward, and as he and Nia square off, Mal grabs your arm.

“Quick, while they’re fighting! Let’s get these people to safety!”

You nod, settling into motion as Tyril easily assists her deflecting any wayward spells into a void as the two of you leap down into the prisoners pit. They flinch away from you, afraid. “Please, please don’t hurt us!” A woman closest to you wails, throwing her hands up. She’s covered in filth and everything else, skin and bones.

“We’re here to save you,” Mal says kindly, knife already in hand, but carefully pointed at no one.

Above, Nia blocks a whip of Light that slashes out of Solerene's hands. You try to focus on the heavy ropes binding the prisoners.

But it’s no good, and you turn your attention back to your friend in fear. “Nia! I’ve got you!” You try to rush to her side, only to catch the tail end of one of Solerne’s Light bursts. It whips across your face, sending you tumbling back down into the pit the hard way with a cry of pain.

“Kit?!” Mal yelps.

“I’m, fine,” you grunt, sitting back up, tears stinging your new burn upon your face as you force yourself back upright.

He grabs your shoulder before you can try round two. “Help me out with these!”

“Right,” you gasp, pulling one of your arrows out as Mal begins hacking through the ropes with ease.

“There, you’re free!” He steps quickly away from the people, giving them space.

“Th-thank you,” many of them murmur on sobs, some looking blankly down at their swollen and torn wrists as if unsure where their confines had gone and expecting them to appear back any second.

From above the pit, Solerne sees what’s happened. “NO! Don’t you dare!”

He lunges in, right towards Mal, giving Nia the window she needs. She raises her hands, and one last definitive burst of Light blasts out lifting Solerne off his feet and smashing him into the wall. He crumples to the ground, knocked out cold.

“Oh gods!” Nia shrieks, hands slapping to her mouth. “I really did that!”

Tyril squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. “You saved dozens of innocent people. It was the right thing to do.” He gently steps over Solerne’s prone form and crosses to the altar, where he wraps the Shards back up in his cloth. “Cursed things. Even when they don’t corrupt, they find some way to bring out the worst in everyone.”

Threep’s on Imtura’s shoulder, unable to stop a snarl as he paces around and scents the air as she barricades the doors.

Meanwhile, you turn to a prisoner. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

She stares down at her raw, bleeding wrists. “No more than anyone else,” she whispers. You draw a small jar of ointment from your satchel, and offer her a dab. She presses it to her flesh, and a stuttering little cry of relief echoes out of her.

Struggling to swallow, all you can offer is, “It isn’t much, but it should soothe the pain and prevent infection.”

The former prisoner stares up at you as she passes it along to the next person, tears in her eyes. “This is, the kindest thing anyone has done for me in… months.”

You bend down and offer your hand gently towards her. “Hopefully, it’s the first of many.” She struggles to even grasp her hand around yours, so you slide an arm under her shoulder and help her up to her feet. “You’ll be okay. You’re safe. I promise.”

“I, I want to believe that, but…”

“Take the back exit,” Mal says quickly, having already helped anyone who could stand on their own out. “Follow the alleys back to the slums. If you can make it to a Thieves Guild, tell them the Whitetower Reaper sent you.”

With a nod, the prisoners climb out of the pit and take off running, vanishing through the halls of the temple. You and Mal clamber out after them.

“Will they be all right?” You whisper hopelessly.

“Better than they’d be down there,” Mal says just as darkly.

High Priest Solerne stirs, moaning weakly.

“Much as I’d like a good fight, I’m thinking maybe we ought to hightail it out of here before he wakes up.” Imtura scowls.

Nia sighs, staring up at the temple around her. There’s still a faint cloud of blue in the air, slowly dissipating as the prisoners flee. “For so long, I dreamed of being back here. Of being home… what happened? How did it all go so wrong? How could it all change so fast?”

You reach down and gently squeeze her hand. “I don’t know if it changed, or if you did. But I know that what you did here today was incredibly brave. I am so proud of you.”

She nods, brushing a tear out of her eye. “I have something to show you. Something you might want.” Nia jerks her head at the nearest wall. A glistening shield rests there, glowing a soft, radiant gold. “The Shield of High Priest Castiel. It was said to be able to ward off attacks of darkness and always provide the blessing of Light. Whatever comes next, it might be useful. I want you to take it Syrum.”

It is truly a beauty of a thing meant to protect its wearer. It looks like one large arrowhead, rounded and curved to be wickedly sharp and agile as its swung around. The base of it is a strange shade of dark gold, with lighter filaments of it in a pattern you could study for hours. There’s a teardrop shaped, dark blue gem near the top pulsing with a strange light as you stare at it.

OR BOLAS OR

You heft the shield, admiring its sturdy weight carvings. “Can it really protect us from Shadows?”

“Only one way to find out I suppose,” Imtura runs an impressed finger along its side.

“And if it can’t, we can always sell it,” Mal smirks.

“Not the time,” Tyril sighs at him.

“Fine, fine,” Mal chuckles, not looking particularly admonished. “All right, well. Prisoners freed. Shards reclaimed. Probably time to skedaddle, right?”

OR BOLAS OR

“We’d better leave it,” you shake your head. “Who knows what it really does, I don’t know how much I trust any souvenir from this place.” You try to say without any bite for her. Nia had done nothing wrong today. “Besides, I’ve never carried a shield. I’m worried it would just get in my way if I needed to draw an arrow. If somebody else wants it…”

“Nope,” Imtura snorts. You chuckle in agreement, unable to imagine her hiding and ducking behind anything.

“Yeah. Or who they sacrificed to make it,” Mal says darkly. He clears his throat quickly though and looks around. “All right, well, prisoners freed. Shards reclaimed. Probably time to skedaddle, right?”

“This, did not go how we planned,” Tyril agrees with a scary edge to his voice as he looks around, and then rests his eyes in concern upon you.

“Nothing ever does,” Imtura huffs.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard to stop yourself from screaming in agreement as, together, you flee out of the Temple. You see Nia shoot one last glance over her shoulder as you go. You reach out for her, and she takes your hand as she keeps in stride.

It doesn’t feel like a victory at all as you depart with the last Shard from the tower.

You finally let out your breath when you make it back to the palace grounds, all of you mutely deciding to stay out of sight just a little longer together.

Tyril strides about with confidence, and takes you all to some greenhouses. Imtura leans against the door, arms crossed the moment you’re inside, while Mal begins pacing restlessly among the fauna. Tyril absently cleans and fusses his blade.

And Nia just collapses onto a stone bench, head in her hands as Threep flutters from her shoulder to her lap. “I can’t believe, it,” she’s still gasping, shamelessly crying since she’d left. “What have I done?”

You’re right there with her, devastation haunting the empty space beside you still… but she needs you more as you slide next to her, gently putting an arm around her. “It was the right thing to do, Nia. Really.”

“You don’t understand!” She’s shaking under your grip, for the first time ever. “After this, I’ll be excommunicated. Exiled. Worse?! I- I’ve spent my whole life training to become a priestess of the Light, and now I’ve thrown it all away!”

She tries to push away from you, but can’t seem to make herself do it, just shuddering harder as she comes apart.

OR BOLAS OR

“You’re better off without the temple,” you can’t fight the anger ripping out of you as you hold her closer. “You’re too good for those monsters. They don’t deserve someone like you. And I promise you, if the Light is real, then it’s on your side, not theirs.”

Nia sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and looks up at you with tears in her eyes. “You really think so Syrum?”

“I know so,” you say fervently. “And I may not know much about the Light, but I can’t imagine it asking for a better priestess than you. You don’t need that corrupt Temple to serve it faithfully. You just need yourself.”

“I, I hope you’re right,” she hiccups, wiping stubbornly at her cheek. “But it still hurts. I’m not a real priestess anymore, and I never will be again.”

“You will find a way to become a priestess again,” you blindly say for her at once, just needing to do anything to get through to her. “The Light needs better than those monsters serving it. It may not be today, but eventually, they’ll get what they deserve. And when they do, I can’t think of a better priestess to take over the Temple of Light.” You hope you can hold her tight enough she’ll believe it.

“I hope you're right,” she manages around a gasp, her wet cheek resting right over your heart. “If I had to do it all over again, I would still save those prisoners. I would do it every day. I just don’t know, where to go from here.” She coughs roughly and looks away from you, but you only try to hold her closer. “Maybe someday the priests will see the error of their ways and allow me back into the priesthood.”

“Or maybe you’ll do something so great, they’ll come begging,” you try to say with one of your confident smiles she’d taught you to get through so much of this journey.

Mal lets out a low growl, shaking his head. He hasn’t stopped pacing restlessly since you entered. “I always had my reservations about those fancy priests. But I figured, you know what? Why not give them the benefit of the doubt?” He kicks a pot over as he stomps back and forth. “And now I see I was right all along! Those fancy pricks are the same as any noble! Ready to solve every problem with the blood of folk like me!” He clenches a hand into a fist. “Just once, I tried to stay on the right side of the law. Never again, not me!”

“Mal, try to calm down,” Tyril is watching his progress calmly, the threat radiating off of Mal making you feel more defeated by the second. “You’re right. It isn’t fair, but we did what we could to make lives better for the prisoners. We won today. Not the Temple.”

“Mal’s right,” you agree with a pained hitch for him. You didn't want him to be right, but there it was. “We risked our lives many times over collecting the Shards! Because we believed in the Temple!” You’re shouting by the end, but Nia just huddles closer, still shaking a bit.

“And the Temple’s the same as all the rest,” you’re only fueling Mal’s anger as he swats violently at a hanging frond and crushes the petals under his feet as he continues weaving around the place. “Grind up the bones of the poor and downtrodden whenever it’s convenient.” His tone soothes out a bit though, sighing as he glances furtively out the window. “At least we got those prisoners free. The way Whitetower works, I bet most of ‘em were only guilty of stealing food for their families.”

“Then maybe that’s where you focus your efforts next,” you remind firmly. “You still did the right thing, and you keep doing it.”

He scoffs as he turns away and resumes his pacing. “Not seeing much point in it. But I guess I’ll try.”

Tyril slowly turns his blade over, watching the way it catches the light. “In Undermount, we had many doubts about human governance, but we always saw the Temple of Light as a place of shared faith. It seems we were mistaken.” The anger in his voice is sharp enough you already have a not so small guess those drake’s wouldn’t be landing here again any time soon.

Imtura makes a snarl, at him. “I wouldn’t get all self-righteous there! He did say the elves had their own sacrifice to beat the Shadow Court. He got this idea from your kind!”

“He said it was voluntary!” Tyril says back, more shock than fury in return, but a mingling of both all the same.

“Yea?” Imtura huffs. “You think they sat down each and every elf in your old civilization and got their written permission? Come on. I’d bet you anything those elves were flung onto that battle under false pretenses and cut down just like those humans would have been! It’s not a battle if they were being herded to a slaughter. You ask me, the Light’s a bunch of bilgewater. Power’s power, that’s all. “

“No,” Tyril puts his sword away, looking at her long and sad. “The Light can be corrupted in manifestation, but the source, the source is pure.”

OR BOLAS OR

A long ago campfire comes flickering to mind as you give Nia one last squeeze and slowly take to your feet. About magic, about who wielded it, and why. You really did not feel prepared to take a stand on it right this moment, but you needed to break this up and move this along. “I think Imtura’s right, Tyril. What if the Light is just something people made up to make sense of the world? What if it’s all just manipulation and power?”

Nia makes a strangled gasp behind you to bite back another sob as she hugs herself while Tyril looks at you forlornly with a miserable shake of his head.

“Exactly,” Mal gestures impatiently at you as he finally stills between two windows. “Religion, politics, nobility. All fancy words to put a boot on the common man’s neck.”

“Hear, hear,” Imtura smirks.

It didn’t feel like a great rousing victory to you as you swayed on the spot, staring at your own hands in misery for a part of yourself you were starting to hate, seeing it twisted every other way.

“No,” Tyril says with firm convection. You weren’t really surprised at the way his voice could modulate to reach all three of you at once with the tone that was called for. “The Light is very real. It’s realer than politics, realer than religion, realer than the words we use to describe it.”

“Tyril’s right,” Nia sniffs furiously, but rises as well, crossing her arms definitely. For all the world, for her way of life. “I can feel it call to me, talk to me, guide me. The Light is real, and it’s our duty to restore it.”

Threep clears his throat as he flutters up to Nia’s shoulder from where she’d left him on the bench. “Interesting as this philosophical debate is, it doesn’t solve our biggest problem. How do we purify the Shards now?”

OR BOLAS OR

A long ago campfire comes flickering to mind as you give Nia one last squeeze and slowly take to your feet. About magic, about who wielded it, and why. You really did not feel prepared to take a stand on it right this moment, but you needed to break this up and move this along. “I think Tyril’s right, Imtura. Solerne might have lost his way, but that doesn’t mean the Light isn’t real. I’ve felt it.”

“They’re right,” Nia stands on firm legs, brushing furiously at her eyes. “The Temple was never what guided me. It was the calling of the Light inside.”

“Of course you three would all agree,” she shakes her head. “The lot of you and your magic. You’ll never catch orc’s pulling this kind of shit!”

“The Light is larger than any temple, any race,” Tyril says gently. “Greater than any being, any civilization.”

“Believe whatever you want,” she crossed her arms dismissively. “You ask me, it’s all just a bunch of mystical mumbo jumbo to help folks sleep easier at night.”

Magic being so rare among her species, you wonder very much if she’s even met anyone who could wield this kind of power before she’d met you all.

“Or convince ‘em to kill each other,” Mal adds impatiently.

Threep clears his throat as he flutters up to Nia’s shoulder. “Interesting as this philosophical debate is, it doesn’t solve our biggest problem. How do we purify the Shards now?”

“We, can’t,” Nia says brokenly. “The High Priest was right about one thing. That kind of energy will require too much sacrifice. I thought they’d found the best way, but- I don’t know if it can be done, at all.”

“So we’re stuck with these cursed Shards,” Tyril says heavily, holding the bag in his hand with the kind of radiating hate you hadn’t seen since he’d defeated Xenia.

“Probably only a matter of time until the priests come with the city watch,” Mal reminds, glancing out the window without a hair passing its pain of glass.

“And Kade’s still trapped in the Shadow Realm,” you really do stamp your foot this time, you can’t help it. All the built up anger and frustration, the anticipation to this moment, and you were left practically as empty handed as when you started on what to do!

Imtura coughed awkwardly. “So, I don’t really know how your whole monarchy works, but should we be getting out of the city?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nia moans. “Even if we run, Solerne will find me.”

“What-”

“And how’s he gonna do that?” You and Mal ask sharply at the same time.

“The Orb of Seeking,” she sighed, brushing her fingers nervously through her hair. “It’s a powerful artifact from the earliest days of the Temple. If Solerne offers it a drop of someone’s blood, it’ll show him where they are.”

There is a very long, horrible moment of silence as you all stare at her.

“And Solerne has your blood, why?!” Imtura demands first.

“Initiation ritual,” she shrugs, rather puzzled at all of you for some reason.

You really needed to go back and beat that guy's face in. “Kind of feel like that was a big ol’ red flag right there Nia.”

“Hang on a minute,” Mal makes a pause motion with his hands. “You’re saying if we get this orb, he won’t be able to track you?”

“Yes,” Nia agrees in confusion at him, “but the problem is, it’s been locked away in his personal vault. Without his blessing, I don’t know how we even get within arms’ reach of it.”

Mal snorts so fantastically hard, you worry he ruptured something as he crosses his arms. “Breaking into a vault, huh? Sounds like the job for a world-class thief.”

Tyril gives him a strange look. Not quite disbelief anymore for him… but still somehow shocked after all this time that was his first response too. “You think it wise to break into the High Priest’s den?”

“Wise?” Mal rolls his eyes. “No. Necessary? If we don’t wanna be tracked. A sweet bit of payback? You're damn right.”

“I- I’ll help,” Nia stutters.

There is another, very concerning moment of silence as all eyes land on her again.

Then Mal’s face splits into the widest grin imaginable. “Hang on, innocent little Priestess wants to go rob a mansion? Since when Red?”

“Since,” Nia’s hands tighten into fists, that fire in her burning right back at Mal. “Since Solerne made a mockery of my faith!”

“Oooh,” Mal chuckles with a fond shake of his head. “I like this. What do you say kit? You with us?”

OR BOLAS OR

“It’s to risky,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Things are chaotic enough right now. We don’t need to be splitting up and risk getting arrested with that thing on us.”

“Syrum is right,” Threep sighs. “We should focus on the Shards.”

“But, how?” Mal demands right back. “Without the Temple, how are we supposed to-”

The back terrace doors swing open, and Prince Aerin strides out onto the cobbles, his gaze frantic.

OR BOLAS OR

“Let’s go steal us an orb,” you sneer. It was time they had something precious taken from them, to know how it felt even the smallest bit.

Mal nods, but he studies you with a strange concern. “Fair warning. Heists have a way of getting ugly.” He switches his eyes to Nia just the same.

“Uglier than they are now?” You scoff.

“Touché,” Mal chuckles.

“Let’s get going then,” Nia says adamantly. “I’d like to see you put your thief skills to the test finally Mal.”

He laughs and gives her a wink. “I didn’t think anything would cheer me up today, but pulling a heist with the priestess? That just might.”

“And what are we supposed to do until you get back?” Imtura demands, not moving away from the door, but shifting her weight impatiently.

“I have a task for us,” Tyril promises, already turning away with a resigned expression. “Something I was working on, just in case. Threep can remain with us.”

“I-” Threep puffs up and glowers at Tyril for a moment, before slinking off Nia’s shoulder with a mutter of indignation at being told this. He takes a moment to deliberately twirl around Nia’s feet, then yours, before sulking to his side.

You swallow a painful stone that’s lodged in the back of your throat. You turn sharply away to stalk out first. For Tyril being right in expecting the worst, for a trip that once would have made you laugh and be as buoyant as Mal. You felt wrong, like someone was slowly twisting a knife into your back as you followed them out.

Nia swiftly leads you two through the pristine streets of the wealthiest district in Whitetower.

With a weary sigh but a determined foot in front of the other, you ask, “so, should we come up with a game plan?”

“Sure,” Mal shrugs. “We get in, steal the orb, and get out. Even Threep could do it.”

“It won’t be quite so simple,” Nia frowns at him. You round a corner and find yourself staring up at the biggest, most ornate mansion you’ve ever seen. And you’d seen Undermount.

“This is the vault?” You demand of her.

“The High Priest’s private residence, actually,” Nia says, staring at it strangely.

Mal tries to keep his look of loathing very plainly where it belongs on the building. “Now I’m seeing where all those tithes are going.”

Nia sighs, but chooses not to respond to that. “The vault itself is several stories beneath. But to get there, we have to get to the main stairs. Which means getting past the guards, and patrols, and clerics.”

You gaze in concern between her, and Mal, who hasn’t batted an eye at any of this. “Are we gonna need to watch out for the army while we’re at it?”

“I bet that damned Priest already tipped them off about us too,” Mal scowls, eyes flickering around every door and window expertly.

You sigh and turn back to Nia. “Is there no other way to the vault?”

“Not that I’m aware,” she says apologetically.

“Well,” Mal says patiently, still pleasantly, even. “I can run and get us a couple shovels, but it’s pretty obvious to me what we need to do.” He grins down at her. “How’s your lying face, Nia?”

“My, what?” She asks blankly.

Mal chuckles without surprise. “Never mind, we’ll do the talking. But if we gotta dash, remember to keep up. It’ll be just like Undermount, huh kit?”

“What did you-” Nia begins in vague concern, but stops herself with a sigh.

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “It's only the fate of the world resting on our shoulders rather than a bottle of wine this time. Can’t be too different.”

He frowns at you again, the same expression as back in the greenhouse, but quickly slips right back into a smile. “That’s the spirit!”

Mal motions for you and Nia to follow him, staying low to the ground until you see a side entrance to the manor. Several guards stand directly in front of the door.

“Just gotta get them out of the way,” Mal mutters to himself, tapping each finger against his thumb in a quick pattern as his eyes scan around.

“There’s a window over there,” Nia says nervously, clearly on the side of avoiding a confrontation. “Maybe we could slip in?”

OR BOLASOR

“Just gotta get them out of the way,” Mal mutters to himself, tapping each finger against his thumb in a quick pattern as his eyes scan around.

With a wicked smirk and an ease of summoning magic just like Tyril taught you from the dry air and plenty available brush around you, you shoot a fireball at a small shed past the guards, sending it up in flames.

Even Mal startles a bit beside you as it whizzes past him. “Jeez Kit, a little warning,” he frowns without looking away.

“What in the hells was that!?” You had their attention as they all take off running.

Mal grunts in appreciation. “Hey, if it works it works.”

As they rush away to investigate, the three of you dart to the unblocked door. You slip inside before you're noticed. It was unlocked, which honestly is a blessing.

With a soft click, the door closes behind you, and you find yourself in a large sitting room, decorated with golden fixtures and distasteful self portraits. Nia motions for you to follow her to the hall.

OR BOLAS OR

“There’s a window over there,” Nia says nervously, clearly on the side of avoiding a confrontation. “Maybe we could slip in?”

“I’d like to at least try the window first,” you agree with her. Mal hesitates, but nods it was worth a shot. You turn to Nia and whisper, “just stay low to the ground and move real slow, okay?”

“Understood,” she said with nothing but determination.

You creep up the side of the lawn and against the mansion, keeping your eyes on the guards by the door. ‘Almost there,’ you hope, center tight with anticipation as you carefully reach up for the window and slide it open, slipping inside undetected.

With a soft click, the window closes behind you, and you find yourself in a large sitting room, decorated with golden fixtures and distasteful self portraits. Nia motions for you to follow her to the hall without batting an eye.

“How do you know your way around this place?” You ask.

Mal shoots you another look, and you can’t for the life of yourself imagine what his problem is as he smiles back like nothing and says to Nia, “don’t tell me the High Priest was a slumber party fiend?”

“He often brought us here so that we could study in his library, and admire his relics,” Nia shrugged, “including his orb,” she finishes with something close to as wicked a grin as she’s ever made.

Mal rolls his eyes hard. “Good to know he’s always been an arrogant little prick-”

“Priestess Nia!”

Nia gasps and turns on her heel, her face pale like she’s seen a ghost at the man spotting you from the top of the second floor. You lean over and quickly try to whisper, “old friend?”

“Solerne’s head secretary,” she says in a rush all in one breath as he approaches with a frown right to the banister to get a good look down. “He’s absolutely the wrong man to cross, and he’s coming right this way-”

You frown in concern what the heck he’d done to earn that reputation with her as you straighten up with a scowl. “Then we need a cover story, fast. Why didn’t we think of that?!”

“Mal!” Nia looks hastily between him and the rotund man still rapidly approaching down the stairs. “I thought you were meant to be good at this!”

“I don’t do plans,” he huffs down at her. “Plans are just begging the universe to make it all go wrong.”

You are going to strangle him one of these days, but a sharp, “ahem!” stops you from doing so now as he finally reaches the bottom of the stairs.

He’s got deep brown skin and slicked back, oily black hair with very large glasses and a goatee not half as grand as Mal’s. His fine silver and black clothes and high collar made him the status of the priests even without the warning.

“Oh yes, how, how lovely to see you again,” Nia says quickly with a wobbly smile.

“Quite.” He says, small eyes digging into hers and yet roving unpleasantly over you and Mal with the same expression. “Now may I ask just how you came to be here without an appointment? Or without even coming through the front door? With, company, in tow?”

“Right?” Nia blinks spastically. “Well-” her nervous gaze catches yours, pleading silently for help. Before you know what you’re doing, you take a step forward.

OR BOLAS OR

“If you must know, sir, we’re on official business from the Crown.” You play back that old trump card with just as much confidence as the first time.

“What sort of-”

“We cannot say,” you say hastily, but meeting his eyes without hesitation. “They are sensitive matters, you understand.”

He is not amused. “And the priestess?”

“She agreed to help with our investigation,” Mal smoothly adds. “Step aside, please.”

“You aren’t in uniform,” he snaps at Mal.

You open your mouth with no clue what was going to come out in surprise- when Nia steps forward. “Do you truly believe the Crown would broadcast to everyone within shouting distance that a top secret investigation is going on and send him here in uniform?”

He frowns at her in surprise. “I, suppose not.”

Nia still gives him a pleasant smile. “No need to be alarmed, Grand Clerk,” she even gives a kind bow to her head. “I’ll explain everything in due time.”

He gives a great, blustering sigh, but is turning away with boredom. “Right, then I’ll leave you to it.”

The clerk disappears around the corner and Nia lets out a long, relieved sigh.

Who knew she had it in her?! “Nia, that was amazing!” You grin. You would have swept her up into a hug under any other circumstances.

“We’ll make a grifter out of you yet,” Mal proudly claps a hand on her shoulder.

Nia grins up at him before turning away. “We shouldn’t linger. He’ll document that we were here.”

You and Mal exchange a look- and with a start you realize it’s the same frown he keeps shooting you. “Let’s hustle,” you say quickly, turning away and still trying to swallow past that pit in your throat.

OR BOLAS OR

“If you must know, sir, Nia’s, hired us for protection.” You play back that old trump card with just as much confidence as Mal had the first time.

He is not amused. “Protection from what, pray tell?”

Nia rallies gallantly. “As you know, Grand Clerk,” she even gives a kind bow to her head, “there has been a rise of crime in Whitetower lately. And, seeing as I’m here to do some research at the High Priest’s request, I didn’t want anything to impede me.”

“I see,” he frowns, and you’re pretty sure you’re still busted despite her excellent lying face. Who knew she had it in her?

“We may not look like much, sir,” you quickly add. “But we’ve got plenty of experience with this sort of riff-raff.”

“Oh yeah,” Mal’s quick to add. “Travelled all over the kingdom and seen a lot of things. Grobtars, wraiths, bloodsquids, you name it.”

“They were hired on Prince Aerin’s high recommendation,” Nia concludes sweetly.

He nods, beginning to turn away. “Yes, well, I suppose one can’t be too careful these days.” He still narrows his eyes unpleasantly upon Nia for a moment. “What did you say you were researching?”

“I am,” Nia only pauses once with a little laugh that does well to smooth over her hesitation, “comparing ancient rituals of Light with our current traditions.”

“Ah,” he smiles. “So you’ll need to access the almanacs. Wait here, then.”

The clerk disappears around the corner and Nia lets out a long, relieved sigh.

“Nice one,” you congratulate, happily turning away at last.

“You are learning fast on the job Priestess,” Mal chuckles.

Nia grins faintly as she leads the way. “I suppose I didn’t know I had it in me. But we can’t linger. He’ll still document that we were here when he comes back.”

Her face falls as she quickly walks of u h h inf. You and Mal exchange a look- and with a start you realize it’s the same frown he keeps shooting you. “Let’s hustle,” you say quickly, turning away and still trying to swallow past that pit in your throat.

You follow Nia down the stairs and come to a large set of doors made of wood and carved bronze. On the handles you see a thick weaving of chains, and, “of course. A lock,” Mal rolls his eyes.

Nia gives him a small smile. “I thought a world-class thief like you wouldn’t have any problem?”

Mal gives her a droll look back. “I didn’t say it was a problem! Picking locks takes time though.”

“And time is in short supply,” you remind them both impatiently, looking up and down the corridors.

“Could we, break it?” Nia asks hopefully, staring down at her hands in confusion.

“I don’t know,” Mal admits, wrapping his knuckles curiously. “These walls look like they give a mean echo…”

OR BOLAS OR

“This is not the time to debate,” you huff, making the decision quickly. “They’re already going to know we were here when they come to use the orb. I’m breaking it Mal. Move. The sooner we get out, the better.”

You grab the chains, and with magic flaring through you to melt the locks, you rip them free. “Nothing wrong with a little brute force,” you say in surprise at yourself for how well that worked as you drop them.

The lock falls to the ground with a massive THUD that echoes in the quiet hall.

“Thanks for trimming down our time-table even more,” Mal scowls at you. “Someone was bound to hear that. What is the matter with you?”

You open your mouth hotly-

“Let’s keep moving,” Nia says urgently. She pushes the doors open, ushers you inside where you find a magnificent altar in the middle of the room.

OR BOLAS OR

“This is not the time to debate,” you huff, making the decision quickly. “Pick the lock Mal.”

“On it,” he agrees at once, crouching down. “You two keep watch.”

“Of course,” Nia agrees.

“Would it do any good?” You ask, doing so anyways, head on a swivel. “If anyone comes down the stairs, we’re kinda trapped-”

“For my peace of mind,” he chuckles, already at work on the lock. You and Nia pause at the foot of the staircase, listening hard for any guards. “Got it,” he says before you can even start to worry. “Not like it was hard.”

Mal pushes on the heavy doors and ushers you inside before quietly shutting it back. Inside is a place of great renown and study you’re sure, the centerpiece being a magnificent altar in the middle of the room. On top of it, an orb glows with raw power.

“It can’t be this easy, can it?” You ask, stepping forward-

Nia grabs you by the arm with a yelp. “Wait! There’s a field around it.”

“A field?” Mal sighs.

“Think of it as a barrier of Light, one that you can’t see,” she anxiously explains.

“You know, I’ve had my fill of invisible magic barriers after that whole business in the catacombs,” Mal huffs, staying in the doorway, knife drawn.

You frown from Nia to it. “So how are we getting past? Can you and I walk through?”

She bites her lip, walking in a wide circle around the altar. “No, this one’s different. But I think I know how I can make it through.” She focuses on the orb and holds her hands out in front of her. Awestruck, you watch as her typical orb of Light expands, until it encases her in a bubble completely. Nia steps up to the altar and passes straight through the barrier in a burst of fizzling light. “I’ve got it!” She yelps at herself, staring at the object in her hands in shock.

It’s a purple stone, pulsing with unpleasant energy only as large as her cupped hands. She tucks it quickly into her bag and comes over to join you.

“Excellent work,” you nod at her. “Now let’s just sneak back on out of here-”

Mal holds up his hand, silencing you. You hear dozens of heavy footsteps and the creaking of metal armor coming from the stairs.

“Guards,” Nia all but mouths.

You nod, not really having needed that one explained. You try to mouth back, ‘back door?’

She hesitates for a moment and urgently whispers, “the tunnels? They could lead outside.” She points toward a nearby shelf of antique treasures, which you can now see block off the entrance to a secret passageway.

“Could be, or a dead end,” Mal shakes his head, eyeing that shelf without much hope.

“We don’t have much choice,” you unpleasantly remind with no clue how many are descending upon you. “They know we’re in here.”

The footsteps are right outside now, and Nia grabs your arm in panic. “What do we do?”

“Get to the tunnels,” you agree, but just as you turn on your heel, dozens of armored men pour in, swords drawn.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Er,” you give him a nervous grin. “Much as I’d love to stick around and chat-”

You, Mal, and Nia dart toward the bookshelf and try to push it aside, but it barely moves an inch.

“Hurry!” Mal snaps, pressing in with all his weight.

With a snarl, you throw all of your weight into the back, and it topples forward towards the guards. They scream and scatter, and the path is exposed for you. Mal snatches the grate away, nearly shoving the two of you in before jumping himself just as a sword swings over his head.

“After them!”

The guards try to follow, but their armor is too bulky to fit. One of them reaches through the narrow space, grasping futility.

“Get back here!”

Yeah, not likely. One of them starts taking off his armor to pursue, but Nia pivots, shoving you and Mal behind her.

“What are you-” you yelp.

“No! You stay back!” Nia shouts back. A great pulse of energy expands between her palms and she throws the fizzling orb of Light up at the ceiling.

“Aaaahhhh!” Their cries of shock and pain echo above as BOOM! The ceiling of the tunnel cracks, and collapses down between you and the guards, cutting off any pursuit as the entire thing caves in with a massive pile of rubble and boulders.

“Oh, my, goodness,” Nia says faintly as she looks at her hands.

Mal doubles over laughing. “Priestess! I am absolutely loving this new side of you!”

“I hope they weren’t harmed,” Nia frets, staring up where you can still hear shouting.

“They’re fine,” you snort. “They’ll just have nightmares about tunnels for a few years.”

You and Nia dash after Mal into the foreign space, leaving the muffled sounds of the guards behind you. In the low light of Nia’s orb, you see her try to suppress a smile.

You nudge her. “You loved that, didn’t you?”

“No!” She yelps, blushing faintly… “I’m just, glad we got what we came for.”

“No offense,” Mal smirks over his shoulder at the both of you, “but that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. You felt the thrill of the game. Admit it!”

Nia blushes harder and ducks her head. It’s not until you reach the mouth of the tunnel and step back out into the sun that she speaks again. “All right. It was rather exciting.”

You cannot help a laugh, throwing an arm over her and pulling her in tight as you feel your first real bubble of emotion, the good kind since you’d left the Light Tower. “Look at this Mal. Our little lamb’s turned to a life of crime!”

“I only did what I had to do!” Nia insists, fanning her face, but smiling back.

“Still a crime!” Mal shouts loud enough for half the country to hear.

“Sometimes you gotta be a little bad for the greater good,” you agree in delight. “And with this orb? The priest and his cronies won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

“Exactly,” Mal nods firmly. “You should feel proud. You did well.”

“For a priestess?” Nia asks hesitantly.

“For anyone!” Mal turns to walk backwards to look her in the eyes. “We couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

“Oh!” Nia stops fanning her face, her blush is even fading as she walks a little taller under your arm. “Then, thank you for being a good teacher, I suppose!”

A look of understanding passes between them, like two new dance partners finally finding their footing.

You release her with a lingering smile, and a good hard laugh Tyril’s worst nightmare about you three could apparently come true any day now. “So. When’s the next heist? Now that we finally got the perfect crime ring together.”

“Well,” Mal drawls out with another laugh as he turns back around. “There is this famed ruby chalice I’ve been thinking about-”

“Let’s put an end to the Shadow Court first, then we’ll talk,” Nia giggles.

Your smile fades, and that same weight settles in the back of your throat as you look towards the castle.

You breathlessly return, and don’t even make it to the greenery door to find Tyril intercepting you. “Are you all right? Did you secure the orb?”

You look at him as blankly as you have been Mal what their problem was. “We did.”

“Nobody’s getting tracked by that bastard,” Mal agrees viciously with one last proud clap on Nia’s shoulder. “Not on our watch.”

“Aye, that’s what I like to hear,” Imtura sighs in relief, gaze flickering restlessly around. “But we do still need to figure out what we’re going to do next.”

Before you get the chance to ask them what they’d been up to-

The terrace doors swing open, and Prince Aerin strides onto the cobbles, his gaze frantic. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I came as soon as I heard what happened at the Temple!”

“Are we under arrest?” You frown, crossing your arms. It would track with the day you’ve had. You can feel Mal and Tyril exchange a look this time and bite back the urge to whirl around and snap at them to knock it off.

“What? No, of course not,” Aerin frowns at you. “I can’t believe the High Priest would even suggest his ghastly ritual! His proposal was abhorrent. It goes against everything the Light teaches.”

You don’t feel any sense of relief. It was just a checkbox on your very small list of things not to worry about. “But what are we going to do now then? The Shards haven’t been purified. My brother is still trapped-”

Aerin steps toward you and takes your hand in his, gazing into your eyes. You resist the urge to cringe away or slap him with the last of your resolve as Baldur flashes across your mind. “I may have a solution,” he tells you earnestly.

Your heart flutters, you gasp. You might have to kiss this kid if that’s what he wanted in return, and honestly it would be worth it for all the wildly messed up trauma it would cause to do that to someone who reminded you so much of Kade.

“What?!” Tyril echoes behind you.

“Then why didn’t you say so earlier, fancy pants?” Imtura demands, and you do snatch your hand away and back towards her in immediate concern for that very valid point as suspicion overwhelms you at once.

“I didn’t have all the details before,” Aerin says apologetically, glancing nervously away from her. “I didn’t want to promise anything I couldn’t deliver. I, I had to be sure.” He looks back at you though, his eyes full of determination. “There is an archive in the Royal Library, the Forbidden Wing, where only the royal family are permitted. There, I found a tablet describing an ancient ritual! One from the very founding of the kingdom! It’s just like the one I showed you Syrum!”

He takes out, indeed, another Lore Tablet from the folds of his robes and holds it out to you breathlessly. “With this ritual, I can purify anything cursed by the Realm of Shadow! Without requiring any sacrifice of life!”

“You-” that painful lump in the back of your throat finally dissolves as you gape at him. Could it be so easy, after all this time…

“You’re, joking,” Nia gasps.

“Sounds to good to be true,” Mal shakes his head quickly.

Aerin looks at them anxiously, and pushes the tablet towards you again with pleading eyes. “If it fails, it fails… but why not try? Here! You can read the tablet for yourself and see that I speak the truth!”

You fling your arms around Aerin, holding him so tight he gasps and laughs as he hugs you back, the tablet squashed between you hard and annoying. You were afraid to hope again, you firmly kept in your heart Mal might be right this time, but you lean back and eagerly take it for yourself without hesitation, and this time, read it out loud.

“Huh, this one’s a little different than the others,” you mutter, eyes skimming over the topics available as you realize there’s no ‘subsub’ sections on all the races separated out. But with a shrug, you begin at the top.

Magic-

All the races of Morella hold their own explanations of where magic comes from. The elves see it as a fit from their Gods. The humans see it as the will of Light. The orcs see it as the blessing of the elements.

In truth, all of these are just comforting myths, fables to reinforce cultural power structures.

You hear all four of your friends shift and grumble impatiently for this thing, but you were being impatient and really not in the mood for a group discussion arguing with a rock.

Elves preach the righteousness of their gift, yet wield it to murder each other in byzantine struggles. Humans preach the values of the Light, yet their Temple has quietly practiced sacrifice for centuries-

“What?!” Nia shrieks.

You look around at her with a look of pity… you want to comfort her, but Imtura steps forward and does so, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder she’s quick to lean into as you turn back. That was not something to deal with right at this moment, you were still reeling from the effects of it yourself.

And then, all of your friends are huddled as close to each other as if a great frosted wind had come in here. You can feel them all surrounding each of you, and you suddenly find it easier to breathe and keep reading.

Orcs are perhaps the closest, yet they look too closely at the manifestation and not enough at the source. Magic shapes the elements, but it does not derive from them.

Magic, in fact, predates all the races who see it as theirs. You can find traces of it in the sunken ruins of Zaradun, in the deep stone crypts of the Wastelands.

The earliest trace of magic I have found is in a cave painting high in the Frostwhisper Mountains. It depicts a simple shape, an early humanoid, gazing up with lightning in its fingers… and above, a great and terrible beast.

History-

All history is written by winners, and winners always lie. The history of Morella is no different.

The elves tell a wonderful story of their civilization, how it was glorious and magical and then fell to shadow. Yet they neglected the foundation on which their empire was built, one of conquest and subjugation, of spreading across Morella by crushing any who stood against them…

You can’t help but wearily trail off where the tablet doesn’t as you look around at Tyril for comfort.

He doesn’t really give it to you, anymore than he’d once sugarcoated his own race really. He simply stares at you, impassive, his own haunted blood waiting for the rest. History was a truth to be emotionally studied later apparently, and honestly, you’d never been more grateful to him for that.

Ask the early races of Morella what they think of the elven empire. You can’t, because the elves wiped them out.

This tablet wasn’t making it easy on you though as you struggled to swallow and keep going.

Was the corruption of the Shadow Court a great tragedy? Or was it the inevitable consequence of a decadent empire, of a culture focused on glory and wealth and status?

Humans are no better, what with their perpetual civil wars and crushed rebellions The bards will sing the glories of the king, but a beggar in the Nooks and Crannies will tell the truth.

And the nature-loving orcs only took to the seas because they stripped their ancestral home bare, a charred husk of rock where no tree will ever grow.

That’s not even to speak of the real history. The history of the world before the world, of the beings that walked this land before the first elves gazed up at the Light.

But the less we speak of them, the better.

This tablet was not earning itself any fans right about now… but the burning curiosity you’d had for this thing since the beginning was now racing through you more powerfully than ever. Who wrote this thing?!

Once again, a challenge for another day. Reading now, for Kade.

The Shadow Realm-

The Shadow Realm is a place of great mystery and uncertain, even to me. An entire second reality, as vast and expansive as ours, yet governed, seemingly, by its own unique set of principles.

What can I tell you that I know of the Shadow Realm? I know that magic is different there. In our world, it runs through all living things, a force of power that can be channeled.

But in the Shadow Realm, magic is wild, unconstrained, raw, and tempestuous. Strange storms bright the horizon. Creatures roam, neither living nor dead, manifestations of magic made flesh.

In some places, it seems to mirror our world, a reflection of our geography… yet in others it is wholly different, with alien, arcane, and unknowable landscapes, geometries that defy the mind.

Time moves differently there as well. A second may be a week or a year. A month may go by in a minute. The sun will not rise for years, then will emerge, blazing and red, in the blink of an eye.

And what of its ruins? Who built them? When and why? I dream one day of finding out.

Your heart is trembling in your chest as you move onto the last section. So far, you weren’t seeing what exactly had Aerin so convinced he’d found an answer. Just more questions, the same empty hope you’d been carrying around since your world was shattered apart.

The Lands Beyond-

Morella is a land enclosed, blocked by sharp natural boundaries: the jagged mountains of the north, the blasted deserts to the south, the poison field of the east.

Few have ventured beyond the land’s borders, but those who have bring back some wonderfully enticing tales.

Elven travelers speak of the mountain kingdoms of Vishanti, ruled over by wooly men who can slumber in ice for decades, and boast strength greater than the strongest orc.

Imtura snorts beside you, and you smile faintly, wondering if her next voyage will be to set sail for that place and challenge them.

Meanwhile, in the wastelands of Zaradun, live the dwarves, a race older than any in Morella. There, among those red sands, they practice their arcane magic, and guard an unfathomable treasure.

Mal makes a humming noise of interest, and Tyril shushes him… but it’s one of those strangely indulgent ones. You’re almost biting your lip to stop from laughing at the pair of them as you imagine them traveling off bickering every step of the way to this place.

Then there are rumors of the lush rainforests of Rysoth, where giant lizards roam and the birdmen of the Avian Kingdom rule the skies…

You can’t help but smile in wonder for the world as you look up, all there was to see….

But find yourself frowning at Aerin all the same as you are done. You turn the tablet over in your hands, mesmerized as ever by the quality… and find something strange embedded around the sides on this one. There’s more writing, but it's in a language you don’t recognize.

“Tyril, this isn’t ancient Elvish, is it?” You confirm.

“No,” he nods, taking it in hand and inspecting it closely. “I’ve never seen this before.” He frowns and passes his hand over it in wonderment. You hope he’ll cast a spell to translate, but nothing happens and he hands it back with an intrigued frown.

And this one has a signature on it, you realize from the new angle! Still just legible in Morrelian!

‘The Watcher’

Planning to look into that, finally, later, you tuck it into your bag and turn in confusion to Aerin.

“We can enact the ritual right now,” he says eagerly, still confidently meeting your eyes. “Here, in the palace, before the High Priest is able to demand an audience with my father. But we must hurry. We don’t have much time.”

“I didn’t see anything about a rit-”

But then Aerin takes off.

Swallowing, you exchange one last look with your friends… but perhaps Aerin had found some way to translate that crazy language in his super elite Royal archives too? It seemed the thing Kade would do.

So you follow him as he leads your party to the empty throne room and spreads a velvet cloth across the center of the marbled floors. “The Shards, please,” he says eagerly.

With a nod at Tyril, he unearths the cloth holding the Onyx Shards from his pack and hands it to Aerin.

He unrolls them and carefully sets them on the velvet, his hands trembling, his jaw wide. “Wow, the Onyx Shards… after all this time… I never thought I’d live to see this day.”

“You’ve been looking into them too?” Nia asks in surprise, eyes darting to you.

You shake your head you’d said nothing to him, still studying him in fascination.

“More than you can imagine!” Aerin laughs.

You could kick yourself! All this time, and you could have had Aerin’s wisdom at your disposal if you’d just trusted him a little more!

“So,” Mal’s still shifting his weight uncomfortably near the door, a look of dread lingering on his face. “How do we do this ritual?”

“Patience, Mal,” Aerin says brightly. “You’ll see it all soon enough.” He reaches down-

“Wait!” You move, but not fast enough, again. “Don’t touch them with your bare-”

Aerin plucks a Shard off the cloth, raising it reverently.

“...hand…”

Aerin swiftly arranges the Shards on the cloth, a fervent gleam in his eyes. The Shards click together perfectly, edges melding into one being.

It’s… a hilt!? A sword hilt… yeah, you can see it from this angle. It was missing the blade, obviously, but it was finally something the back of your mind had been nagging at you ever since you’d seen the broken shattered remains as they were, like a puzzle your mind had been begging to piece together after all this time finally complete.

It should have been soothing for understanding to click into place, but instead…

“The hell do you think you’re doing princeling,” Imtura asks, hand on your shoulder, trying to slowly back away, but you can’t, won’t be moved as you just stare at Aerin’s fevered bright eyes…

“This is not a ritual-”

“At last!” Aerin laughs over Tyril. His voice thickens, rumbling through the cavernous chamber. It’s wrong, it’s not his…

It’s a monster. A literal demon Baldur himself couldn’t hope to be.

You choke as he looks up at you, and you see death.

His skin has no more color than the bottom of a clay cup, with thick black veins across every line of him. Blackness pours out of his eyes as he grins right at you. “It’s finally mine!” He hisses.

You stumble, you all fall back, drawing weapons. Threep hisses and scrambles onto your shoulder… but you can’t feel his weight there. You can’t even feel your bow in your hand, the snarl coming out of your nespers throat as he screams, “darkness!”

“Yeah, thanks for the update!” Mal snarls. “Godsdamn it! He’s corrupted!”

“No- it- it can’t be,” Nia gasps on shaking legs beside Tyril, hands fluttering what to do.

“What- who are you?” You gasp.

Aerin bares his teeth at you as he gathers shadows around himself. “You really can’t tell, even now sweet Syrum?” He cocks his head to the side, that innocent smile twisted about his face that bleeds shadows. His voice comes from his center more than his mouth. “A pity. I’d hoped you of all people would have some vision.”

“You’re, lying!” You snap, fingers shaking upon your bow. “You’re an imposter in Prince Aerin’s body!” Like Kaya! This was all a trick, that poor kid had died-

“No,” Threep moans in your ear, crouched down low and quivering… with something like fear. “He’s not one of the Shadow Court. This is him, this terrible power-”

Aerin cackles. It reverberates off the stone walls and back as he sneers at your little buddy. “At least the nesper knows how to respect one like me.”

“How did I miss it?!” Threep demands, somehow hunkering lower on you every moment. “I should have felt that energy!?”

With a grin, Aerin pulls down his collar, revealing a pulsing red stone fused into his chest.

“A nerada stone?” Threep gasps. “I thought they’d all been destroyed?”

You don’t even have to ask. Nia gasps along. “It absorbs the dark energy in a corrupted person, allowing them to mask their true nature!”

“And it hurts like my whole body is on fire!” Aerin sighs, caressing it now with a mocking smile.

“All this time I've been traveling the land,” Tyril says, stepping forward at the ready with his fury, “seeking the person who’d been spreading the corruption, and it was you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Aerin gives him a mocking little bow. “Easy enough to justify it as accompanying my brother on his stupid trips. A mayor here, a scholar there, why, in just a few years, I’ve recruited dozens!”

“But, why?” You gasp. “Why would you do this Aerin?!”

His focus settles back on you as he scowls. “What life did I have before?” His voice is becoming throttled in an angry hiss. “Forever in the shadow of my fool of a brother, doomed to a life of pathetic obscurity?! Bullied. Doubted. Mocked. I hated it here. My only reprieve was in my dreams.”

A warped smile twists his lips, and the shadows around him pulse and flare as if in a dance. “And there, there the Dreadlord reached out to me. Speaking through the Shard in that pathetic Temple of Light. He valued me. Respected me. Saw me for the leader I should be. He made me the deal of a lifetime. I could continue with my miserable existence as the weak, pathetic younger brother, or rule as a King of Shadow!”

OR BOLAS OR

“Then you’re a fool,” you sneer. “Are you really so foolish that you believe the Dreadlord would willingly give you that kind of power? That the other Shadow Court members would share it with you without complaint? I thought you were smarter than this Aerin!”

You’re crying by the end, you can feel the tears running down your face, but you don’t care. You can’t really feel them as you stare at him… Aerin… your last hope…

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He scowls. “No, I’m too clever to fall into their traps. I will rule. Easily.”

“I do not need to know what you are or why in order to kill you,” Imtura raises her axes.

OR BOLAS OR

“Then you’re a coward!” You shout, the words echoing as loud as Aerin’s. “You could have tried to make things better for yourself! A simple conversation with your father, learning how to deal with your brother- but instead you tucked your tail and scurried to the shadows! You became a monster! How are you any better than Baldur!?”

Your fingers are tingling to let loose an arrow now as rage burns through you.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He scowls. “I had the courage! I was the only one with the courage to reshape the realms!”

“I do not need to know what you are or why in order to kill you,” Imtura raises her axes.

OR BOLAS OR

Something, something of your old self- of the person you used to be is withered and broken, smashed into a tiny pulp as you smile at him. Just the way he’d wanted. “Then you’re a visionary.” You lower your bow and edge forward, trying to make your eyes go as wide and innocent as his had once been looking at you.

Just like when you’d first met, you tuck your hair behind your ears and give him your most flattering smile. “Aerin, you’re right, you've always known what’s best for the kingdom after all. I said it myself, didn’t I? Now I know how right I was.” Mercifully, none of your friends are calling you a traitor, yet. “Whatever it is you mean to do with the Shards, I’m sure you’re clever enough to use it wisely. Maybe I can still help?” You keep your voice gentle, soothing, wishing to calm an angry beast as you step forward, instead of away like every instinct was screaming at you to do.

You bite your lip and take another cautious step.

Through the shadows, you see a faint flutter of recognition on Aerin’s face. He frowns, as if struggling with regret… “I really did like you Syrum. I thought you were sweet, I thought you could help me. Maybe, maybe if we’d met sooner…” but his face crumbles right back to that hard, angry mask as shadows lash around him, around your feet. “But I know your heart too well. You bared it to me. In the end, you're just as weak and cowardly as everyone else. You’d never know what to do with this power!”

Imtura had enough. “I do not need to know what you are or why in order to kill you.” She raised her axes.

Aerin gives her the cruelest smile yet. Your blood turns to ice. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He lifts a hand, but the doors to the throne room slam open, and guards swarm into the hall, followed by the king and Baldur.

“Aerin!?” The king is an elderly man, bushy white beard, magnificent crown and robes and all. His sons took after his chubby cheeks and flushed red face.

“Brother,” Baldur says in his usual disdain.

Aerin wraps his arms around himself laughing in delight. “Well, well. You’ve returned early.”

Seizing your chance while he’s distracted, your muscles contract and release your arrow like they have a million times- only for your arms and legs to snap together, locking you in place. Your arrow falls to the ground at his feet with a little clatter…. just like last time. How had you not noticed, never again questioned…

“No- let me go-” you struggle against invisible coils of shadow.

Aerin shoots you a deathly glare, and you feel something slither inside your mind. His voice. His sweet, mocking, innocent voice, right inside of you. ‘ No, I don’t think you’ll be doing that ever again.’

“What is the meaning of all this Aerin?” The king blusters. “First the chaos at the Temple, and now you’ve locked yourself into my throne room?”

“Gods know what he’s gotten into,” Baldur scoffs, looking at his brother's dead visage with his usual disgust. “Just look at him, probably snorted one of his stupid plants-”

Baldur stomps over to Aerin, clasping a meaty paw on his brother’s shoulder and giving it a shake, jerking Aerin backwards. The eldest son smirks at the king. “What should I do with him, Father? Want me to rough him up a little, like when he was little?”

Aerin gives his brother a broken smile, full of a hatred you couldn’t hope to consume in ninety lifetimes. “I’m so glad you came, dearest brother. I did need blood for this ritual. I was going to use that orc’s… but I think yours will do quite nicely.”

Baldur just stares at him without a change in expression on his ruddy face. “What are you-”

Aerin twists the Onyx hilt, and a blade of darkness bursts out.

A sword, a fully formed, six foot long sword appears, as writhed in shadows as its wielder.

… because why not at this point!?

The blade punches directly through Baldur, bursting out of his chest. He gasps and sinks to his knees, blood spraying out of his mouth.

“Y-you-” Baldur still doesn’t seem to realize what happened to him as he falls with nothing but confusion and hatred in his eyes for his little brother.

Aerin jerks the blade back, leaving a gaping hole in Baldur’s chest. Whatever little light had been in him leaves the crown prince's eyes as he collapses into a puddle of his own blood.

“NO!” King Arlan screams, frozen in place as everyone else.

Aerin turns slowly to him, that same smile in place. “Twenty years. Twenty years I’ve dreamt of doing that to him. And it’s even more satisfying than I imagined…” he takes in a long, deep breath of joy as the shadows around you loosen.

Aerin’s distracted. You turn to your companions, and they all nod. It’s now or never.

Not hesitating a moment more, you summon cleansing fire in the palm of your hands as you lunge forward. “This ends now Aerin!” You fling the ball of golden flames at him, but he lifts a hand, and a swell of shadow swallows your fire whole.

He gives you a look of pity. “A feeble attempt.” Then the shadows slam into you. You’re pinned, screaming and twisting in frustration-

With a snarl of outrage, Imtura charges him, both axes raised overhead, but a shadowy hand rips them out of her grasp. “No-” before she can blink, she’s pinned to the wall with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The darkness throws the axes at Tyril, interrupting his spellcasting. His flame shield drops and he flings himself to the side.

“Not a chance pal,” Mal’s in motion as Aerin lunges toward Tyril still coming out of his roll. Mal slides across the marble floor, daggers poised to slice the back of Aerin’s ankles.

“Keep those filthy knives away from me,” Aerin doesn’t even turn around as another shadowy coil bursts out of his hands, pinning Mal to the ground right beside Tyril.

He gasps in pain, unable to move.

Nia rushes toward the fallen Prince Baldur, golden light surrounding her, but Aerin sends a wave of darkness her way. It crashes into her, forcing her to the ground too. “It’s, to, strong-” she gasps.

Aerin tuts in disapproval. “Have we learned our lesson yet? You can try all you like. But the power I’ve been granted is unmatched. And now, if you don’t mind, I do think it’s time I got going.” With a slippery grin, he jabs his shadow sword into the air. With a violent jerk downward, he tears a hole through the very fabric of reality.

“A portal to the Realm of Shadow! No!” Threep cries. He’s bounded behind Aerin, he tries desperately to fling himself down now to sink his teeth into the little prince’s neck-

Aerin turns and backhands him. Threep screeches as he lands on his feet with a wild hiss. Then Aerin lets out an echoing laugh as another wave of shadow rolls over the chamber, throwing everyone left standing to the floor. “At last, my Lord,” Aerin cries in triumph. “I’m ready to join your side!”

King Arlan crawls toward his slain son, fingers slipping in Baldur’s blood and painting red streaks across his face as he cradles his beloved child's head. “Baldur… my son… my precious boy…”

“Aerin!” You try desperately one last time. “Look what you’ve done! This is what you’ll be remembered as! A murderer!”

The shadows press you down harder, thickening as Aerin quacks with rage. “None of you know me! None of you care about me! But you will, very soon! Soon, you will all respect me! You will all bow! … but first, there's just one last task I must accomplish in order to pave my way for my Lord’s return. He will need a vessel in order to return to the mortal realm. A human body capable of sustaining tremendous magical energy. How fortunate, then, that you’ve brought such a powerful magical user right to me.”

And then, he looks away from you… but you still don’t understand, not until-

“Leave her be!” Threep leaps in front of the shadow tendrils that fly out of Aerin’s palms, but they bat him aside yet again and wrap tightest of all around …

“HELP!” Nia screams.

“Leave her alone!” Mal snarls.

“No, you can’t-” Tyril’s bonds almost break for a moment- but then coil around him even worse, nearly cocooning him out of sight.

The shadowy tendrils wrench Nia toward the portal.

“Thank you for completing my task for me,” Aerin croons as he gives you one last smile. “I will be seeing you again very soon. Oh, and Syrum… I’ll tell Kade you said hello.”

“Get- back here!” Imtura’s roar shakes the windows, but she still cannot break loose.

The shadow portal stretches wider, its surface shimmering like thick oil. Aerin steps through, his laughter echoing back toward you.

“NO!” With every bit of strength you possess, you push against the shadows and lurch toward the portal, your fingers brushing Nia’s as she reaches back for you-

“Syrum!”

Then she plunges into the portal behind Aerin, and disappears.

“NIA!”

The shadows disappear, but you and your remaining friends can only stare at the place where she vanished as the portal, the shimmering air of red darkness bends and twists while you’re all released at last…

Despair crashes through you… the very same one you’d been holding back the day Kade vanished. It swept you over, under, like new. A damn burst inside you. At long last, you scream.

#blades of light and shadow #choices bolas #mc x imtura #Choices mc

3 notes · View notes

bedtimegiraffe · 27 days ago

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I'm a big fan of the little moments you added to this chapter! Yeah, we shouldn't bring the Onyx Shards to the party. Syrum is right to get a little worked up while helping Imtura adjust her dress. And it was very sweet the way Tyril started struggling to say Kaya's name once he knew she wasn't corrupted and screwing him over, but dead.

Chapter 12: The Murderous Masquerade

It was a long, weary trek back from the catacombs to Starfury Manor, but the knowledge of Kaya’s death and impersonation by the Shadow Court drove you all forward, sustaining you through the next step. You didn’t get to sleep nearly long enough after all you’d been through, but you were roughly shaken awake by Mal all the same and reminded there was more to do.

Now, if only it can sustain you through…

Imtura. Wearing a dress.

A seriously lovely one too. The green folds are only a shade darker than her skin and the gold inlaid in her bodice and across the sleeves is nothing but elegant and makes the same color in her eyes flare in every light. She was even outfitted with spikes on her shoulders to top it all off. The mask was faintly ridiculous, but was a beautiful shade of gold as well curling around her horns as well as half her face, and highlighted the way she scowled and fidgeted along the trim. Her hair had been brushed out, making it seem even longer than usual in thick ruby locks down her back.

You had not stopped staring at her since you’d seen her, no longer even remembering why you’d come into the main foyer to be honest… but this was getting downright unhealthy. When was the last time you’d breathed?

“I do not wear dresses!” She hollered after Adrina still smiling with pride who had guided her into the room. Adrina wasn’t minding her at all as she still tried to sort through some shoes in one of the closets.

Tyril steps down the stairs behind her, sliding his old house ring calmly onto his finger in a new set of silver armor that was frankly unfair how cool it made him. There was now royal blue gilded into his breastplate as well as an enormous sapphire at its center. The mask on his face was an intricate silver thing that made his chiseled features somehow sharper than ever. “Must we have this conversation again Imtura?” He asks with all the patience in the world. “The thing pretending to be Kaya is hosting the Ancestral Masquerade tonight. She will most certainly have the scepter containing the Onyx Shard.”

“So we gotta be there ready to jump her when she tries to use it,” she agrees impatiently, she can’t stop shifting her weight around, making it flare around her legs. You really should look away, but you just, can’t. “ That part I get, but no one told me it would involve-”

“You look beautiful Imtura,” Adrina said again. She’s not wearing a mask, strangely, but you hadn’t the chance to think to ask yet, especially not now as she runs a hand gently down Imtura’s arm to smooth out a wrinkle and instantly making a jealous spike run through you someone else did that first. “The green silk is lovely with your complexion.”

“It will be hard enough bringing non-elven guests,” he reminded. “If we insult House Duskraven by not honoring the standards of attire, we risk not getting in at all.”

Imtura snorts out a sigh and turns her back on Tyril and his sister, pulling uncomfortably at the stiff boning along her waist in a mirror. You’re not entirely sure she’s even aware you’re in the room. “I don’t understand how anyone can wear these atrocities!”

“She does look uncomfortable,” you finally speak up with a sad smile for her at least. “Can’t we at least loosen the bonding a little or something for her?” Neither of them protest, so you go behind her and begin unlacing, keeping your mind very firmly on just this task, and make a discreet slice on the inside of a seam. After pulling out a few of the stiff spokes to make room for her ribcage, you relace the back.

“How’s that?” You offer, going back in front of her and peering hopefully she’d consider bearing it. It was much looser on her now, but didn’t look as if it was going to sag right off.

“Well, I still look like a bouquet gone bad, but at least I can breathe now,” she managed, taking a relieved breath and brushing at her hair impatiently now instead.

“My apologies if our gowns don’t fit you right Imtura,” Adrina says with genuine regret. “I am sorry, we don’t get-”

“You look gorgeous,” you cut in firmly. Imtura blinks at you like you’ve suddenly switched to elvish. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I prefer you in leather, but you definitely can carry off that silk.”

Now she’s eyeing you suspiciously. “Are you, making fun of me?” She doesn’t seem to know what else to make of that.

“I couldn’t dream of it,” you grin. “You look good.”

She’s making some kind of face behind the mask you can’t fully grasp, but she is grinning. “Fine. But just know there’s no one else in this world I would ever wear this for if we didn’t need into this place, landrat.”

Before you can respond, there’s a commotion from the stairs, a high-pitched squeal.

And a fairy goddess might be descending down the stairs, flying right towards you and laughing. She tackled you in a hug that nearly sent you to the ground.

“Nia?” Not that seeing her in a dress was anything new, but she did look radiant in five different shades of blue. Her resplendent smile somehow just lit her up to new heights. Her long ginger hair was all pulled to one side in a long braid, not a curl out of place, there were white-blue flowers intricately laced into silver vine-works all across her shoulder and down her waist interspersed in the dress… and hooo boy who was she trying to impress with that cleavage dip?! She’d even taken off her regular necklace to be replaced with one that matched her mask, crystillian blue reminiscent of wings on both sets.

“I, love, thissss!” She squealed, fluttering up and down, twirling in her flouncy gown. The skirts flare around her too naturally, catching the lamplight and cascading sparkles. “Oh I love your mask Imtura!” She continued, pulling away from you and turning with her arms outstretched to hug her next.

“I am an orc in Undermount. I’m not exactly foolin’ anyone,” she grumbled.

“But it’s such a fun tradition,” Nia insisted, dropping her arms but still all but hopping on the spot. “A chance for everyone to change who they are, just for a night!”

“It used to be a fun tradition,” Tyril cuts in. “Now it’s a death trap, and we’re the only ones who can stop it.” He’d been downright sour since Kaya, and you couldn't blame him in the slightest nothing had dragged a smile out of his face, nor did it seem likely any time soon.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun while we’re there, now does it?” Mal demands, taking the banister as a slide on his rump and landing perfectly on his feet. He strolls over casually wiping an apple on his black and gold jacket. He gives a lazy pirouette and slight bow to Nia, gesturing for your applause as he rises. His mask is crazy cool at least, a gold patterned work like something was alive just beneath the surface trailing off into a simple white thing across his face.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” he continues with a smirk at the silence. “Was I a secret noble pretending to be a scrappy adventurer all along?”

“You guys all look so incredible,” you insist, watching some brighten more than others. Your eyes linger on Imtura, you long to give her a compliment she’ll believe, but you can’t resist making Nia glow that little bit more first. “Especially you Nia.”

You offer your hand to her to give her a little spin. She blushes, her rosy cheeks contrasting with the blue jewel of her mask as she takes your hand gracefully and does so. “Oh, thank you Syrum! I’ve never been to a big celebration like this. I know it’ll be dangerous, but, maybe we’ll have time for another dance?”

“Oh I wouldn’t miss it,” you instantly agree, eyes darting to Imtura hopefully.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t lay it on too thick,” she huffs, but she’s still smiling. “If me and you get a chance to show up these stuffed shirts on the dance floor, maybe it’ll be worth it though.”

“Oh this is going to be fun whether they like it or not,” you cackle.

Mal laughs along, Tyril sighs, but it’s as close to indulgent as you’ve heard from him in hours, so you’d take it.

“Syrum, you still aren’t dressed,” Adrina cuts in with a little tutting noise.

“I, erm, the outfit,” you shift nervously, forcing yourself to look at her you’d honestly had no idea how to start. You’d been looking for Tyril when you’d come in here and been thoroughly distracted.

“Come, come, it’ll be just the thing to set your eyes glowing,” she waves her hand towards a closet down here instead, and begins digging through a wardrobe, then plucks an elegant outfit from its deaths of rich fabrics. It’s mildly less traumatizing than the frilly high laced collar she’d originally offered you.

You in fact quite like this one. It’s a deep shade of red that you feel would look rather odd against your skin, but standing out was far from anything new, might as well have fun with it. The gold inlaid in it looks pretty cool and you do have to put on something. You wearily hold the mask, a fine golden thing that would at least match and looks like it won’t be too uncomfortable.

… you also desperately try not to ask if this had once been Tyril’s or something. “Okay, I’m going,” you agree, gathering it up in your arms and tromping back to your room. This one isn’t so crazy with the buckles, zippers and chiffon. The pants clung to your skin in a new way you weren’t fond of, but the shirt was nice, and as you smoothed your hands over it, you’re abruptly reminded this thing cost at least half a kingdom probably. Kade would never believe you’d held something like this over your face as you slip the mask on. The strap rests oddly on your ears, but it must be some kind of magic, because it’s not particularly tight or annoying as it molds to your face across your cheekbones.

You step back out towards them, really wishing they’d all left without you right about now as you sigh and tug at the collar.

“Whoa…”

Your head whips around to see Imtura doesn’t seem to think it looks as stupid as you feel it probably does.

“Syrum! You look marvelous,” Nia yelps, dancing to your side and instantly putting her arm back through yours.

“Resplendent, I think, is the right word,” Tyril offers, his voice growing lighter by the moment as he stands among you all again.

“Yeah, yeah, kit had to show me up, nothing for it down here,” Mal rolls his eyes, but gives you a nod as he heads toward the door.

“Oh come now, I think we can all agree the word of the day is stunning!” Threep trills, flapping up to wander across yours and Nia’s shoulders all at once, sniffing heavily at all the new material.

“Not just stunning, you all look perfect,” Adrina beams.

“Thanks guys,” you chuckle nervously, but even that’s fading as Nia gives your arm another squeeze. Her face is going to get stuck in that smile, but it’s nice to see that without a hint of it being scared away any time soon. “We’re about to be the best dressed party crashers Undermont’s ever seen!”

Tyril gives a vacant nod of agreement, but he’s still looking you over with a hint of something you don’t like. You brace yourself as he opens his mouth. “Come, I need to show you something.”

He takes off, and you gently extract yourself from Nia to follow without hesitation, even though you throw a reluctant look back at your friends who are just as confused.

You’re deep through the halls of Starfury manor when he stops at a door and pushes it open. It’s another large magnificent room like so many others, opulent fluffy palace to rest of course, way too much extra furniture, you can’t imagine the significance of what he’s doing as he walks over to a trunk at the foot of the bed. He places his hand on it, and it slides open.

Inside is an array of items you couldn’t guess at, though you see a tightly woven bundle of letters, and the box that Kaya’s map had been inside-

“Is this your room?” You suddenly yelp, doing another throuough sweep of the place… but it’s surprisingly empty. You can’t spot a single ‘touch’ of his in the great bed frame or on the wall. It’s blue and silver, as elegant and dusty as everything else in this place. Your shack back in Riverbend with Kade had more decorations, of wooden figures you two had been gifted as children, of books and your first bow and arrow, broken but lovingly mounted along with a token of your first kill.

“Yes,” he agrees a tad impatiently. “And only I can open this, its magic is keyed to I, and I alone. You are going to have to leave that here, Syrum.”

To your shock, his eyes are resting on your satchel. It clashes marvelously with the elven attire you’d thought nothing of slipping back over your head when you were done getting dressed, its worn brown leather had literally been your pack for years, and showed. The significant weight of it hadn’t left your side, since…

“I-” you yelp, taking an involuntary step back, fingers knuckled white around the strap. “I can’t-”

“You cannot bring those shards Syrum, it is not safe. That bag will not be allowed inside no more than if you’d tried to walk in there in your, normal, attire.” He’s trying so hard not to say literal rags you regularly wallowed in. “They will be safe here. You have my word, my vow, on my honor.”

There’s not a drop of doubt in you he means it. ”Okay,” you whisper. You force one foot in front of the other, and lower it down into his trunk.

You force yourself not to flinch as the lid closes with a soft snap, but you averted your eyes all the same so you didn’t have to watch. You felt strangely light, and empty…

“Tyril,” Valir pokes his head in through the door with an approving nod upon you both. “The carriage is here. You’d best not be late,” he’s even smiling as he walks over to his son and properly fixes his hair back behind his ears and runs a hand gently over his armor.

“Of course, father,” Tyril says quickly, already trying to dash out the door. For just a moment, you see the fear and shame on your friend's face before he’d steeled himself back to his impassive glower.

“Tyril, we’re going to be careful tonight,” you promise, having to almost jog to keep up. “We only have one chance to get this right. Are you up for it?” You pitch your voice into a challenge in hopes to get some fire back in him rather than this gloom.

Instead, his face falls more. “I’m sorry Syrum. It’s still hitting me, harder and harder. I’ll be seeing Kaya’s… body…”

You sigh and don’t know what else to do. You’re not in much better straits, but holding it together for all of them, just like they are for you. “Best get it out now then, because once we’re there, you have to know she’s the enemy. You can’t let that stop you from what we need to do tonight.”

His face is a hard, resolute mask under that designed thing. He was certainly burying plenty of emotions all right, though he’d never needed prompting for that.

“We are going to get through this,” you remind him same as you are to yourself. “It’s not like last time. You’re not facing Kaya alone. You have us with you.” You still can barely imagine what his life was like before, but speak with confidence nonetheless. “And we’re not going to let that monster spend one more day walking around in your friend’s face.”

His lips twist in the briefest of smiles, but his eyes are resolute. Finally, he slows his pace to something more normal. “You’re right Syrum. Tonight, we end this.”

He properly marches off, but you freeze, watching him go with a sudden, forbidding sense of loss. Maybe for him it would finally be over…

As you’re strolling up to the Duskraven manor, Tyril’s in full strategizing mode. “Remember, we cannot show our hand too early. Neither Kaya nor anyone in league with her can suspect that we know about the scepter. We must pretend to be what they think we are: disgraced exile returned to curry favor from his new overlords, and his misfit friends.”

“His misfit friends and one incredibly handsome and noble human ambassador!” Mal smirks, all but strutting along. At least you know two people bound to have fun tonight as Nia giggles at his side.

OR BOLAS OR

“We’ll have to play it by ear,” you can’t help but correct. “We can plan all we want, but we can’t control how this masquerade is going to go. We just have to watch each other’s backs, and if we see an opportunity to get the scepter, we’re going to go for it.”

“You’re right,” Tyril sighs. “Let’s try not to attract more suspicion than we need to until we know what, that woman’s, plan is.”

None of you needed to ask. He’d barely been able to say Kaya’s name since you left the crypt.

Imtura had offered to carry the statue out as gently as she could, but he had shaken his head. It didn’t seem a proper final resting place for her… but putting her anywhere else would just be twisted as well.

OR BOLAS OR

“We’ll follow your lead Tyril,” you agree. “You’re the one who knows Undermount. We’ll do whatever you tell us to do to avoid rousing suspicion. Right guys?” You look pointedly toward Mal and Imtura, who are trying to trip each other in the middle of the road. “ Right guys ?” You say a little louder.

They go still. Silence follows your words. Then, “all right Blue. You're in charge,” Mal sighs.

“Aye aye captain,” Imtura gives him a mocking salute, but you know she doesn’t say that lightly.

The Duskraven manor sprawls over an entire tier near the peak of Undermount. Gold and precious gemstones glitter from every surface.

Tyril seems to be taking it in for the first time. You were long past being desensitized to literally everything in this place looking gaudily pretty. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, brushing his hand against a wall embedded in a maze of some smooth, reflective marble. “This makes me ashamed of the state of Starfury Manor.”

“Money isn’t everything Tyril,” Nia reminds him promptly.

“If anything, I respect you more,” Mal shrugs, even giving him a nudge. “You’re like the stuffy-elf-noble version of scrappy at least.”

…”just what I always hoped to be,” Tyril says at last.

You and the girls are very poorly muffling laughter behind them.

As you approach the gates, the guards eye Tyril suspiciously. He straightens his spine, as if it hadn’t been painfully that already, staring down at them imperiously. “Tyril Starfury, heir to House Starfury. And my esteemed guests.”

“Weapons stay here,” the guard says just as levelly back.

“Since when?” Tyril demands, fingers flexing for the first time in a familiar motion. He doesn’t draw his sword to decapitate the guard, yet, but it’s definitely in his mind now.

“New policy by House Duskraven. Lady Kaya insists. Now lay your weapons down, or leave.” He seems to care no more one way or the other as he looks around at all of you with the exact same expression of impassive intimidation.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Imtura’s already seething, brushing her hand up her back where her axes are strapped in. “She wants everyone in there unarmed and vulnerable?”

Tyril swallows, but gives the smallest nod of his head. “Like it or not, we don’t have a choice. The House Ascendant sets the rules.”

With a weary sigh, he sets down his sword, and motions for the rest of you to do the same. It is with the greatest of reluctance you set down your bow of Gal’dariel, unsure you’d even be getting it back. Maybe you’d been too hasty symbolically leaving that other one behind…

Mal’s no happier leaving his elven blade down, but thankfully no one’s demanding him where he got that as the guard confiscates your weapons with equal haste, then opens the gates.

But as you pass, Tyril leans over, sliding you something from his sleeve. Without a word, without even looking directly at you, he’s slipped the drakna queen’s stinger into your hands. Still wrapped up tight in its cloth, it merely looks like a lumpy, pitiful version of a foldable cane almost, just the hint of its violet coloring on display at the base.

You quickly slide it up your sleeve and give him a nod… though you’re not as convinced this is going to work. It hadn’t looked bulky, out of place, or even noticeable in his armor. You, on the other hand, have a very strange lumpy arm now… but then you roll your eyes at yourself, reminding yourself they won’t notice, and if they did look at you that long, couldn’t possibly think of you as any more of a freak.

The ballroom is as large as a palace, teeming with costumed elves swirling on the dance floor and drinking wine from flowing fountains. It’s almost as overwhelming as that first time seeing them all again. So much decadence and everything that went with it you could barely wrap your head around what you were smelling, hearing, seeing. All of it was exactly as you dreamed, and you honestly just wished to leave.

Their dresses, their attire, it was almost madness how much was being contained in here. The colors, the clothes made out of materials you probably couldn’t even name. Tyril wasn’t the only one in armor, but with a vague guess, you’d assume it was reserved for Heir’s to their house as sporadically as it was seen in males and females. Then you spot that first elf, the one who’d thrown himself at your- or well, Threep’s feet. He’d dyed his hair purple. He was decked out in the various shades of that one color from top to bottom, even lining his eyes and painting his lips.

It’s exactly what you needed as you laugh and try to relax, taking vague comfort you had no hope of fitting in here, so might as well enjoy yourself.

“That dessert display is taller than I am,” Nia gapes.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Threep looks close to tears. “I’m getting a little, choked up,” he even has to stop and let out a, “mrow!”

“Who really needs five diamond chandeliers?” Mal asks in blatant disgust. “Surely one wouldn’t even be missed.”

“How do you plan on carrying a chandelier out of here?” You ask with interest.

“Oh Kit, I’ve got a story for you,” he smirks.

“Huh, I think I just figured out a use for this skirt,” Imtura’s following his line of sight with great interest.

“It better not involve trying to smuggle a chandelier out under it,” you chuckle.

Imtura gives you a blank look. “You mean that’s not what it’s for?”

Tyril is the only one not chatting or even hinting at a smile. He scans the room, narrow-eyed as he takes in each masked face. “No signs of,” he pauses, and swallows. “Of course she’d be fashionably late to her own masquerade.”

“She might attack from the shadows,” Imtura snarls. “Why would she show up at all, now that she's got us all trapped here like rats?”

“She’ll have to make an appearance,” you remind them. “She’s still playing up the proper elvish thing, right? Relax Tyril, she’ll have to show up soon at her own party.”

Tyril’s eyes suddenly widen behind his mask. He looks toward the dance floor. “At midnight, the members of every noble family gather on the dance floor for a commemorative ceremony to honor our ancestors. If she’s planning to use the scepter, that would be the time to do it. Take everyone out in one swoop. We have to stop her before then.”

“Great, now there’s deadlines,” Mal huffs.

“Three hours in this dress and I may be ready to torch this place myself,” Imtura says none too quietly.

“What do we do until Kaya comes?” Nia asks nervously. “Just, play along?”

“Enjoy the feast, perchance?” Threep demands, his little butt wiggling in excitement as he paces around upon her. “No use fighting Shadows on an empty stomach.”

“You guys are thinking like party guests,” Mal waves his hand about. You’d swear you already see a hint of an emerald bracelet sliding out of sight from some unfortunate guest having walked to close. “Not like the cunning band of sneaks and spies that we are. There’s got to be more we can do.”

“We should search the mansion for clues,” you agree with him. “That’s not restricted is it? We might be able to find out who this host really is, or where she’s hiding the scepter.”

Mal gives your shoulder a fond clap. “And at the very least, we might be able to find a gemstone or two these richies won’t miss.”

“It is not forbidden, but we must be careful,” Tyril sighs as they all follow along behind you and Mal.

You want to laugh and call Mal awful as he steers you away, but well, you were kind of hoping to get another sip of elf wine and laugh with him about it as you walk off down a long hallway. Your footsteps echo off the floor, and moonlight streams through the golden arches high above your heads. Threep even flies off Nia’s shoulder and lands, walking with a jaunty wave of his tail and nearly prancing in this room of elegance.

“It’s so beautiful, I can almost forget why we’re here,” she sighs, still looking moments away from breaking into song and dance.

“I’ll never forget. Every step I take here reminds me that Kaya will never walk these halls again.” He’s somehow more bleak and hopeless than the night you met, murdering mayors and speaking of the lost on that ship.

You glance back, longing to say, do anything, but you know you just can’t. You never met Kaya, there was nothing you could offer him to make this better. His distance with you all that time, of never even mentioning her suddenly makes a lot of sense. What could he ever have said to you about Kade that would mean anything?

Threep comes to a sudden stop ahead of you, ears lying flat against his head. “What is that?” His hiss is at a display case of taxidermied animals. After a moment, you realize they’re nespers.

“Oh, erm,” Tyril coughs uncomfortably. “I forgot about those. Kaya’s father explained it by saying that House Duskraven was very attached to their advisors and used to have them, preserved.”

OR BOLAS OR

“Well that’s, disgusting!” You yelp in your own outrage. “Nesper’s aren’t just some, some trophies to put on the wall!”

“No we most certainly are not!” Your own is a ball of fury as he spits.

Mal gives your little buddy one of the kinder looks he’s ever bothered, a look of pity that’s fueled with anger as well. “Everything’s a trophy to the wealthy. There’s nothing beautiful they won’t cut open and stuff, just to hold onto it a little longer.”

“I know it’s a poor consolation, but Kaya wasn’t fond of the tradition.” Tyril walks smoothly forward and bends down to pluck up Threep, running a kind hand down his back. “Her family felt it was one way to hold on to our forgotten past however.”

OR BOLAS OR

“That’s, kind of sweet…” you try-

“Excuse me?!” Threep demands, all fur on end as he glares back at you.

“I, I mean,” you stammer lamely, resisting the urge to hide behind Nia. “I guess they loved their nespers, and don't want to be parted from them?” You frown, crouching down and holding out a hand towards him. “I’m sure they held them in great reverence. Like this one, the orange nesper with the white wings on the gold pedestal, named, Burples?”

Threep is nearly speechless with ferocity. “That’s- I- he- they-” you’ve never seen him so upset, you wish you could hold him.

“Heh, Burples,” Mal snorts.

“Hhmph,” Threep is still huffy, but he rubs his fingers against Tyril’s hand in vaguely less frustration. “I’ll remind you that my lifespan is longer than most of yours! How would you like to end up decorating my walls?”

You stare at him blankly for several moments, never once having questioned how long he would live in fact, but he seems soothed in Tyril’s arms for the moment as he huffs and begins cleaning himself. You turn away from the display, only to see a massive tapestry of a golden-haired elven woman with a nesper on her shoulder…. Which is strangely striped pink and purple. The woman faces off against a menacing, red-eyed shadow, armed with a scepter. The exact same scepter you’d seen depictions of in the crypt.

“Who’s that?” You ask in amazement.

“Elanei of House Rosecoven. Sister to Eleryn, who became Duchess Xenia of the Shadow Court.” Tyril is apparently turning from one begrudging torment to the next as he answers you with just a flick of his eyes over. “Elanei was slain by her sister in the Great War, but remembered always as an ancestor of House Duskraven. I think growing up hearing the tales of her heroic ancestor, who lost her life trying to stop her sister, is what made Kaya go looking for the scepter.”

“And look where we are,” Imtura shakes her head, running her fingers over the thread. “Thousands of years later, still facing the same enemy.”

“That’s how the world works,” Mal agrees with an exhausted sigh. “We all think we’re smarter than the people in the past, but every generation, we make the same bad decisions.”

OR BOLAS OR

All three of these guys were really starting to depress you, and you had more than enough of that to fill your own cup. “You’re wrong Mal. The six of us? We’re smarter than the people of the past. We’re going to make people see the danger the Shadow Court poses. If the Shadow Court works from the shadows, we’ll just get rid of those shadows. Force people to see that they’re back!”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Nia smiles. “If everyone knows the Shadow Court are no myth, they won’t be tricked by their whispers or temptations.”

“Sorry you two,” Mal shakes his head, his mask keeping his hair from falling into his face for once. “That’s plain old wishful thinking. People are weak to temptation. No one ever turns down something too good to be true.”

You sigh, and aren’t sure how or even if to rebuttal that when-

“Hey! What are you doing snooping around here?” You jump as one of the House Duskraven guards stomps your way.

OR BOLAS OR

All three of these guys were really starting to depress you, and you had more than enough of that to fill your own cup. “You’re wrong Mal. The six of us? We’re smarter than the people of the past. We’re going to destroy the Shadow Court forever. We won't leave them licking their wounds, just to rise again in a few years. When we’re done, they’ll be gone. Forever.”

“Always a thrill to see that fire in you kit,” Mal grins back in agreement.

“Sound reasoning,” Imtura agrees. “No one can fall for evil whispers if all the evil whispers are dead.”

“I’m not sure death is enough to stop true evil,” Nia sighs, twiddling with one of the flowers on her arm and not looking at you. Oh gods, not her too.

Before you can say anything else-

“Hey! What are you doing snooping around here?” You jump as one of the House Duskraven guards stomps your way, drawing a wickedly sharp sword rapidly approaching, and he’s not looking remotely happy to see half your party. “Lady Kaya said to be on the look out for dirty little spies.” His eyes rest menacingly on Imtura.

OR BOLAS OR

Your blood boils in your ears, and you snap back without thinking, “maybe I should ask you that! What are you doing up here?”

“I am guarding the manor,” his sneer turns your way at least.

You give him a mocking confused stare. “But, are you? Otherwise, how would we be up here?”

The tip of his sword is now level with your eye. “In case you can’t tell by the sword, the armor, and the fact that you’re about to be thrown in prison-”

Tyril hastily steps in front of you, clearing his throat. “Humblest apologies, good guard. My companion here had far too much honey-wine and wandered off. We’ll be out of your way in no time.”

“Hmph, you’d better,” he agrees, giving all of you a look of malice as he turns away.

You wander back to the ballroom, as Mal snickers behind you. “But are you?”

“Not my finest moment,” you sigh in agreement.

OR BOLAS OR

After your disastrous last time you’d flirted with Baldur, you’d made a silent vow not to fall back again on that trick any time soon. However, as your blood boiled in your ears, you slip on an easy, disarming smile and move lightly towards him, laying your hand gently on his shoulder with your best little wink. “Oh come on, can you blame me for looking for a little more excitement than the nobility can provide?”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, not shrugging you off, attention thoroughly on you.

“In other lands, they know the nobility are too uptight to have any real fun,” you chuckle, batting your eyes. “And I’m all about having, fun…” You trail your fingers down his chest, and his breath catches.

He quickly stammers out a reply as his eyes rake you up and down. “Well I, suppose that’s, understandable… but try to stay in the ballroom. Please.”

You pat him on the cheek feeling thoroughly disgusted again, then breeze on by him with a wink. “Thanks!”

Once you’re out of earshot, Mal laughs under his breath. “Nicely done kit.”

“Yes, that was, effective,” Tyril says, but there’s obvious displeasure in his voice that had worked.

“What can I say? I have an irresistible personality,” you snort.

OR BOLAS OR

Your blood boils in your ears, but you give the guard your most vacant smile possible. “Spies? We’re just here to see all the dead nespers!”

“What?” He demands, looking over as if just spotting them for the first time.

“ What?” Threep echoes, apparently his outrage not as diminished as you’d hoped.

“Oh yeah,” you nodd. “We have a live nesper, see,” you poke the grumbling critter in Tyril’s arms, “but we were curious how we should honor him once he reaches the end of his long and noble life.”

The guard's eyes widened in fascination. “You have a live nesper! How-”

“I am the most esteemed advisor to House Starfury and I will not be stuffed!” Threep hisses, all but ready to launch at this innocent guard's throat.

The guard winces at Threep’s angry face and slit eyes, and frankly you did underestimate those fangs and claws digging into Tyril’s armor sometimes, far to used to your pampered little charge. He’s alarmed though, and nods and backs away as you and your friends casually walk back off to the ballroom, Tyril giving him a good scratch behind the ears all the same.

“Sorry Threep,” you sigh, giving him a hopeful scratch on his chin. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Hmph,” he rubs his whiskers firmly against you as his head tips towards Tyril , purring hard in the double scratches. “I suppose it wouldn’t have worked without me.”

“Exactly,” you grin, offering your arm out. He jumps free and settles in on your shoulder as usual while Nia leans over and gives him a kiss on the forehead.

You hear Imtura and Mal snickering behind you and sigh in pleasure for your friends.

Back in the ballroom, the guests mill around like before, and there’s still no sign of Kaya. “Hm, looks like we’ve still got some time to kill,” you frown. “Guess there’s nothing else to do but mingle?” You reluctantly add.

“What I just heard is, we are going to be eavesdropping on some nobility,” Mal nods. Nobody else seems remotely enthused.

“Let’s start at the buffet,” you offer, giving Threep one last apologetic scratch. “We might catch some gossip.”

“A good plan,” Tyril nods. “There must be others who are suspicious of her.”

You make your way over to the buffet line, your mouth watering as you take in the indulgent feast before you.

“I don’t even know what half these dishes are,” you mutter quietly to Tyril.

Mal’s not even heasiting to load his plate, listing everything he takes, you’d swear he’s not even speaking actual words half the time. “...roasted pheasant, stewed barely, fresh-baked bread, mmm, how do you even get any of these underground?”

“Our farmers are able to grow food beneath the mountain by channeling the light of the sun through magic.” Tyril shrugs. You blink several times, unable to imagine any ‘noble elf’ farming like you’d seen in the hard fields of labor. “The livestock are raised in cages.”

Your mouth opens, as your stomach sinks. “They’re what?!”

“You people are really committed to not going outside,” Imtura mutters as if he’d just spoken something truly deranged.

“Look at these desserts!” Nia giggles, holding up a fluffy cake with pink frosting that’s got some kind of spinning top ornament. “I didn’t know cakes could come in so many shapes, and sizes, and colors!”

She hadn’t been kidding before about a whole tower of them being as tall as her. You make an mph noise of appreciation and have far less fear of grabbing several of those, helping yourself to one of everything, moving slowly down the buffet line while listening to the elves in front of you.

“... believe he would show his face here after what happened!”

“And to come back with this, rabble! It’s insulting.”

You’re immediately displeased with this decision as you glance over and don’t have to take a wild guess who they’re talking about from their unsubtle glances over their shoulder. It’s not Kaya they’re talking about, but Tyril.

They’re a man and woman, both dark skinned with white hair, and wearing matching blue and silver gowns as prominent as anything else around here.

OR BOLAS OR

You can’t help but instantly launch back, “excuse me. Do you have a problem with my friend?!”

“I beg your pardon?” She gazes down at you like a live pheasant had just started to run wild.

“It’s not my pardon you should be begging,” you huff. “You keep staring at my friend like he’s grown horns!”

“I suppose you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,” she turns away from you, with a vacant sneer on Imtura as if you weren’t even worth her time insulting anymore as she cuts right through you.

CUT

OR BOLAS OR

Despite your instinctive anger, you bite your tongue, force yourself to stay calm, and listen...

“Wasn’t it strange, the way they turned on each other?” The man’s voice is as high as you’ve ever heard, he sounded like he was speaking through a straw. “We always thought Kaya might marry the Starfury boy.”

“I heard he was upset House Duskraven started prospering,” the woman laughed, there was a mean, cuttingness to the way she spoke you’d heard sparingly from Tyril, but it was somehow even worse on this woman. There was nothing of the kindness and respect you’d learned to find. “He wanted a bride from a poorer house, who he could control as House Ascendent.”

You glance over and see Tyril’s face is tight, and he mutters nearly inaudible under his breath, “it was the other way around. She used the Shadow Court’s influence to bolster her house after I left.”

They clearly can’t hear him, still talking loudly, and yet their voices mingled with the other waves of gossip all around. “You know,” the woman giggled. “I did hear something about Kaya tricking that Stonewater boy into risking his family’s whole fortune…”

OR BOLAS OR

Working your jaw furiously, you try to imagine mimicking Tyril’s vocals, his tongue, his elegant speech as you turn your back on the elves so they don’t realize you’ve been eavesdropping, then pitch your voice just high enough to be overheard. “I can’t imagine why Kaya hasn’t shown her face by now. Do you suppose she’s ashamed?”

Tyril gives you a strange look back. You hope it’s not because you’ve accidentally made yourself sound like a screech-owl-pig. “What are you talking about?”

You wink at him and jerk your head slightly toward the two elves, now avidly listening to you. “The way she manipulated people into those terribles deals, Duskraven’s really been a disaster as House Ascendent.”

And right on cue, you hear the two elves start whispering excitedly to each other. “You know, I did hear something about Kaya tricking the Stonewater boy into risking his family’s whole fortune!”

“Is that what happened?” Her friend gives a derisive laugh. “My niece says that Kaya has been hounding her to sign an exclusive agreement with House Duskraven!”

You snort in delight at how well that worked as you give Tyril a vague smile. “As easy as the gossips in the Riverbend taverns, I tell you.”

Oh the stories you could share of who had snuck off to the market with their neighbors produce, and which girl had tried to sneak into who’s home and which of the local boys had been last seen getting drunk and breaking windows. It might not be as elegant as what these elves talked about with trade agreements, but you found yourself rather pleased to realize, gossip was gossip. You carry your goods over to a table, listening to more snippets of it drifting through the air.

“... claimed the entire wine trade for themselves…”

“... refused to sign it over unless they submitted to a binding contract…”

“... have no choice but to work with her…”

You take a seat beside Tyril, keeping your voice low as you murmur in his ear, “sounds like a lot of the nobles aren’t happy with House Duskraven’s rise. Maybe we can use that to turn them against her?”

He shakes his head slowly, not touching his food. You’re growing a tad concerned, you haven’t seen him eat since you’d been in Undermount. “At her own masquerade? It would take something truly remarkable to make them oppose her outright.”

You and Tyril make a quick pass to the bathroom, and circle around for the first hour for any other hint of what's to come as the masquerade passes with no sign of Kaya. You regroup with your friends, still sprawled around a table with towering stacks of empty plates.

Mal’s looking around, anxious and bored, scratching his nail against his fork. “So, we’re all just hanging out at the masquerade now, right? And we’re still not stealing?”

“Yes,” Tyril says briskly without looking over at him.

“I cannot express how badly I want to kill something,” Imtura groans, looking moments away from flipping the table as she keeps tugging on her bodice.

“Oh come on guys, it is a little fun,” Nia insists, watching the dancing on the floor with dreamy eyes, face in her hands. “Look, the band is doing something!” She sits upright, perking up and all but quivering in excitement.

You look over to see they are putting together something new, and begin strumming away, playing an elegant waltz. Elves move onto the floor in new waves, gently twirling and weaving together in a pattern you could barely hope to follow, far more intricate than any dancing you’d ever witnessed.

Imtura tips her head to the side in fascination. “I prefer a good jig myself. But this isn’t bad.”

Nia sighs. “Am I the only one wishing we were her to dance and not, you know, hunt the Shadow Court?”

“Can't hurt something that’s not there,” Mal says delicately with a significant look at you. “I wouldn’t mind a little dancing until Kaya gets here.” He couldn’t nudge his eyes towards Nia any harder as he glared at you.

“This used to be my favorite song,” even Tyril’s reluctantly smiling as he watches a few elves actually laughing and twirling. “I remember learning to dance to it when I was a boy. It’s always played at every masquerade.”

You give Nia a promising smile, but turn to Tyril. “Teach me?” You ask eagerly.

He stares at you for a long moment. “I suppose I’d be remiss not to. You do deserve to know whatever you like of this place.”

Still, there’s an obvious reluctance as he looks from the dance floor and back to you.

You try to tell yourself he doesn’t care about his social standing that much, right? It already being at the bottom of a cesspit regardless, just to teach a little commoner like you a proper elf dance. “I would be delighted,” he says more firmly, standing.

You do your best to smother a sigh of relief as he guides you smoothly out with a hand on your shoulder as proper as one could be until you're amidst the whirling elves. He curls his fingers around yours, then takes your free hand and places it securely on his waist. He gives you a hint of a smile. “Hold on tight.”

“Gladly,” you nod firmly.

Chuckling, even looking a little smug, he rests his other hand on your back, his touch gentle. “If you’ll allow me to lead?”

“Fair is fair, I taught you last time,” you grin. “I am here because I have no clue what I’m doing in this crowd.”

With a smile and a nod, Tyril starts guiding you through the unfamiliar steps, the pressure of his hand on your back steering you with ease. “I used to daydream about this,” you admit, looking all around, still not quite sure you’re awake some days. “Going to a ball in Undermount, surrounded by my people.”

“I didn’t know that’s how you thought us,” he admits, staring curiously at you. “Your people.”

“I-” you break off, struggling to put this idea into words. “I’m still, I don’t know about all of them yet, but I still like the idea, even if-”

Tyril is silent, sad, waiting.

“I mean, everyone in Riverbend was nice enough,” you’re quick to assure. “Not too many of them made comments or anything, but I was always aware of how different I was. And I always knew that somewhere in the world was a place full of people who looked like me. They told me about it, just a year or so ago, but even before then, I knew I had to come from somewhere! I just never thought I would actually make it here, but, now that I am… I don’t know. I don’t hate all of it.”

Tyril gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as he gracefully guides you around a group of dancing elves, at least four people all holding hands in a very complicated looking display.

“When this is all over, I would love to show you Undermount as it should be. Not catacombs and angry ghosts, but history and magic and culture,” he says firmly. “I’ll show you everything you’ve missed Syrum, and gladly.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you smile back.

You follow Tyril’s lead almost effortlessly. He dances the same way he does everything, with confidence, head held high, but every time he meets your eyes, he can’t help smiling. “What are you looking at me like that for?” He asks curiously.

“You’re really good at this,” you say with a tad bit of envy in your voice. “It’s nice to see you in your element at last. Makes that stick up your ass finally make sense to see you being such a great dancer along with all of them.”

“Mal is an awful influence on you,” Tyril sighs. “You shouldn’t be so surprised.”

“Not surprised, I guess,” you hesitantly back track. “Just, when you talk about Undermount, it was usually about how you left, not what your life was like when you were here, happy. It was hard to imagine you going to balls, dancing, having a normal life.”

He nods, walking you easily through another step and letting just a hint of his pride show as you’re still easily gliding along. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember when my life was normal. But dancing here with you, it makes me think of what my life should have been. I wish I could share a normal Ancestral Masquerade with you. One where we worry about nothing more than impressing everyone else on the dance floor.”

“Well, I think we’re doing a good job of that, at least,” you grin back, feeling the strange new eyes on you everywhere you turn, catching hints of mutterings about what Lord Starfury was up to.

Tyril sends you into a careful twirl across the dance floor, then pulls you back in close, something still deeply hidden in the depths of his impassive face.

“Are you, doing all right?” You ask anxiously. “I know this isn't easy for you, being back here, listening to people gossip about you, waiting for…”

He sighs, whatever faint smile had been there falling away. “I feel, false,” he agrees, looking around, and then back at you with a knowing look. “Like I’m playing a role, trying not to let them get to me.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to hold up when you have to deal with Kaya face to face?” You murmur gently. You know you couldn’t.

“It will be difficult,” he agreed. “But I’ve steeled myself for what must be done. I appreciate your concern, Syrum, but right now, I just want to dance. It does make this all more bearable.” Tyril sends you into a graceful dip, and you can’t help a chuckle as you easily trust and fall back.

To your shock, you feel an envious stare or two from passing elves, but he doesn’t seem to notice, his focus solely on you.

“So many awful things have happened in the past year,” he sighs, apparently unable to help himself adding on as lost in thought he was, keeping it all easily interlaced as much as the dance. “However, I, do not take kindly to the thought that if I had never left, you would still be out in the world, very much, well not alone, but-” he shakes his head and glances back at your friends and away quickly. “When I think of Undermount without you in it, it does seem hollow. I can’t make myself wish I had never met you.”

“I feel the exact same way,” you confess, voice heavy with guilt. “I still need my brother back, of course I do, but I can’t wish that none of this had ever happened either.”

The music softens and you bite back a sob at the confession. “Meeting you, coming here, learning about my heritage… I can’t imagine the person I would be without all that. Miserable in Riverbend, maybe even growing to resent the world.”

Tyril’s steps slow, and he wraps his arms around you, the two of you coming to a rapid standstill. Right in the middle of the dance floor. “Then perhaps we were both just heartless enough to deserve to meet.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Or perhaps this was meant to be, and no matter what had happened to Kade and Kaya, we somehow would have met.”

His hair tickles your face as he shakes his head fondly. “As always, I far prefer your way of seeing things.”

“I am happy I found you Tyril,” you remind him one last time as the music begins to fade. “Even if you were a total jerk at first.”

“I was not a jerk,” he frowns… but you can hear the reluctance in his voice not to agree he keeps well hidden as he leans back. “I was simply, harried, when we ran into each other that first time. Trailing Shadows that happened to lead me all over that blasted town between your Shard and that Mayor.”

You give him a dry look you learned from the best. “Be honest, what did you think Mal and I were doing with Nia? Kidnapping her? I don’t need to know what harried means to know when you’re full of it.”

His eyes dart away, but come back with a reluctant smile. “I was under the impression all three of you were smugglers. Trafficking elven goods under the guise of traveling with a Priestess of Light. Under other circumstances, I would have confronted you to a duel on the spot for your honor.”

“That, actually explains a lot, and would have gone very poorly for us all,” you admit with a laugh loud enough passing elves gave you a scandalous look. “I’d be a jerk to me too.”

“I wasn’t that bad-” he tries again.

You snort, pressing your face against his neck, feeling him roll his eyes as he gently moves to hug you. The dance seems forgotten for a moment as you shake with laughter in his arms, and neither of you care. “You were a jerk for a little longer than that too. But it was fine. I knew you had a big kind heart under that armor all along, even before Nia did. Not just anyone decapitates mayor’s for you.”

You feel him chuckle, and you sigh as he shifts his arms around you tighter. “Thank you, for giving me a chance to open up to you. To show you who I really am. How I feel. I have, very rarely, experienced that.”

“I still wish things could go back to normal,” you whisper, unable to meet his eyes with guilt as you stay close. “I don’t want to give you or any of our friends up, but, sometimes I still ask myself, why me? Why Kade? If I could have the rest of this, but Kade here too, I wouldn't have any reason in the world to complain.”

“I understand,” Tyril agrees from deep within. “If I could have you, and my best friend Kaya to wish the best for us all, I would not tremble to face the Shadow Court.”

“You don’t know how to tremble,” you smirk, finally leaning back. “I bet you had that magically removed.”

He grumbles something about Mal being a bad influence again, then shakes his head as the music winds down. He steps back and sweeps into a deep, exaggerated bow, twisting one leg behind the other and ramrod straight in an elegant poise.

You do so in kind. “Thank you for the honor of your company, Lord Starfury.”

Tyril actually laughs, a small one, but heard by many as he gives an elegant, proper nod. “And thank you for the respite on this difficult day.”

Bolstered with confidence, you flash him one last grateful smile and all but run back to Nia’s side. “Well come on then,” you laugh, holding out your hand. “I did promise you a dance. My lady?” You bow extravagantly for her. “Now you’ll get a proper elven one and everything!”

Her eyes go wide with pleasure under that mask, as if she’d really thought you had only been kidding in the manor. “Oh! You really mean it?”

“Of course I do,” you scoff she could think otherwise. “What do you take me for? May I have this dance, Nia, Priestess of the Light?”

She throws her head back laughing. “You may,” as she eagerly places her hand in yours.

Imtura watches them go away side by side, smiling and laughing, blending in with ease among the crowd. Tyril couldn’t say she was jealous as he folded himself back into his seat, but, something was on her face under that mask as she turned back. “I cannot for the life of me decide if he likes her too.”

Mal chokes on his drink in a laugh. Tyril frowns at him, though in concern for his choking or his poor etiquette one could debate on for an hour as Mal answers. “Please, he looks at her the way he does Threep.”

“I beg your pardon?” The nesper demands, pulling his face out of a goblet of wine.

Imtura at least snorts in delight. “Yeah, I thought so, but sometimes,” she runs another uncomfortable hand down the soft material of her dress, but with much less hostility than usual.

Mal’s getting up for another plate with an eye roll. “Trust me, you’ve got nothing to worry about Imtura. That kid could be held hostage by horny mermaids in dresses and still only have eyes for you.”

“Now who has some childhood trauma he needs to unpack?” Tyril says with interest as he walks away.

Imtura watches him go, then turns back to watching the dance floor, then to Tyril.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs, taking a sip of water. “I can never guess what half of you are ever going to say at any given time. It does keep things interesting around here.”

She snorted on a good laugh, but sighed and grumbled something he probably wasn’t meant to hear about elves.

Tyril sighed, and added, “in our custom, I would say they make a great match, they share a great deal of Kilvali, and yet, I do not believe Syrum has given any serious thought to which walk of life he will partake in when it comes to his courting. I would not stress about it too much my friend.”

“Yep, that’s about where I’m at too,” she sighed, knocking back what had to be her twelfth glass of wine.

You take Nia’s hand and steer her to the dance floor, finding an opening among the whirling elves as another song begins. She looks around, smiling nervously. “Maybe you should lead. I already know you’re a much better dancer than I am.”

“Don’t be silly,” you shake your head, gently swaying her side to side already. Her smile somehow grows every time her dress flares out of the corner of her eye. “You’re the most graceful woman I know.”

“Oh well, I don’t know about that,” she shakes her head, lowering her eyes, blushing.

With a smile, you pull her close, one hand at her waist while the other takes her hand in a gentle hold. “But I do love introducing you to new things, especially since you catch on so quick! We’re two peas in a pod that way, you and I.”

Nia places her free hand on your shoulder, and as the music builds into a slow, graceful ballad, you guide her over the dance floor as elegantly as any elf. As you predicted, Nia falls easily into the pattern of the dance as you had, laughing breathlessly as you speed up, spinning her around the floor. “Everything you dreamed it would be?” You offer hopefully.

“And more!” She instantly says despite being a little out of breath doing it. “I know I shouldn’t be,” she adds hastily, suddenly glancing around. “This is dangerous and we’re not here to have fun and when Kaya gets here we need to be focused and resolute, but-”

“Hey,” you laugh and give her another twirl so that her skirt flared out again, shimmering around her like a waterfall. “You’re allowed to have fun, Nia! You’ve reminded me of that time and again. I want you to have fun, you’re always there when I need a smile.”

She giggles, part embarrassed and part relieved. “I guess I’m still not used to fun like this. Like parties, and dancing, and eating lots and lots of sugar.” She glances at the elves around you, at their poses as they dance, then steps closer to you to mimic them better. You get a floral whiff of her hair as her warmth presses against you. “I’ve never been anywhere like this before. Never done anything like this. I like it.” Her voice softens as her blush deepens. “I love dancing with you.”

With a sudden thrill of shock as she peeks up at you, you realize she’s peeking up at you. Last time you two had been doing this, she’d been an inch or so taller than you. When in the three hells had that happened?!

“We’ve come a long way from Vantessa’s bar,” you agree. “I like dancing with you too. Even the elves can’t take their eyes off of you. Look.” You spin her slowly around, so that she can catch the elves watching furtively before they look away.

“Are you sure it’s me they’re watching? Oh no, do they suspect us?” She seems a tad frantic as she quickly looks back to you for reassurance.

“The only thing they suspect you of is being the most beautiful human they’ve ever seen,” you promise. “They’re also probably pretty endeared by your enthusiasm, curiosity, kind heart-”

She smacks your shoulder so lightly it could be mistaken for a stray feather with a trilling laugh. “You make me sound like an adorable puppy who wandered into this place.”

It suited her perfectly well, but that wasn’t what she needed to hear. “Adorable, yes. Puppy, no.” You send her into a graceful twirl until just the tips of your fingers touch, and then you pull her back into your arms, just like Tyril taught you. “Think of it this way. The people of Undermount have been bored for a thousand years. You’re their first breath of fresh air in a long time.”

“I’m just grateful to be here,” she smiles along with your every emotional beat as swiftly as her feet. “To stop the Shadow Court. To see so much of the world beyond Whitetower. To be doing this with you.”

OR BOLAS OR

“I feel exactly the same way,” you promise, hugging her close. “I love the way you look at the world. Like maybe it’s not as broken as it seems.”

The music shifts to a slower melody, and Nia rests her head against your shoulder. “And I love that you never stop wanting to fix the broken parts. Even without the Light.” She sighs, and you can feel an ache in her for something she’s been struggling with. “In the Temple, they told us that anyone raised in the secular world was venal and shallow. They needed their minds and souls opened to the Light.”

She shifts to glance up at you, and you see nothing but tenderness in her eyes that soothes your anger. “But you knew nothing of the Light when I met you, and yet, you are the truest soul I have ever known.”

The adoration in her gaze is almost too much to bear, and you look away with a blushing smile of your own. “I’m not that great,” you mutter.

“Yes, you are,” she says back with all the confidence in her. “You are very, very great.”

“And you are the worst flirt I have ever met,” you look back with a mild glare.

She laughs and tries batting her eyes, throwing her weight back against your arm and putting her hand on her forehead in the silliest of displays. “Is this better?”

“What am I going to do with you?” You chuckle as the song begins coming to a close and elves are bowing to their partners.

OR BOLAS OR

A large part of you can’t help but want to shake your head, tell her you wished this wasn’t happening, that you’d met under any other circumstances than you had. … “wish it hadn’t happened this way,” you find yourself whispering out loud.

“What, what do you mean?” She asks, shock, hurt blossoming on her face.

“I’d never want to give you or any of our friends up,” you hastily explain, “and I know someone has to stop the Shadow Court, but… I guess I wonder, why me? And, why, Kade?”

Nia reaches up and cups your cheek in her palm, her thumb brushing your mask. You lean into her gentle touch and close your eyes for a moment, letting her steer for a moment. “Something I have learned since meeting you is that the Light, doesn’t seem to always protect the ones who deserve it.” She presses her lips together, nodding resolutely as her hand falls away, and balls into a fist back upon your hip. “But I’ll do everything I can to protect you from here on out. Even if I’m not the biggest, or strongest, or bravest-”

“Oh, you’re the bravest of all of us Nia,” you’re quick to cut into that nonsense.

She raises her eyebrows in question, clearly thinking you're joking, and you squeeze her hand without hesitation. “You went into the world hoping it’d be beautiful, but instead it’s shown you so much horror. But you’ve never given up for a second. I can’t say the same.”

She smiles softly, resting her head on your shoulder, her slight frame fitting gently against you as she hugs you tight. “That’s because I’ve had you by my side. I guess, with you being so brave all the time, it’s always easy for me to be the same.”

As the song nears its end, many of the elves bow to their partners and begin to leave the dance floor. Nia sighs. “I guess it’s over already. Should we get back to our friends? I’m sure Imtura’s just begging to be out here next.”

You laugh at her cheerful, joking tone. You might have to drag her out here kicking and screaming, but you’d give it a shot if you saw a hint she did want to. For now, you shake your head. “It’s up to you Nia. If you’d like to keep dancing, I know we have the time.”

“Oh, well, I,” she gazes at you with a nervous smile on her lips. But she shakes her head all the same.

You bite your lip to not sigh. You wish you could return what you fear she still harbored. Instead, you sweep into a deep bow before her. “As you wish, my lady. We can come back later and go again any time you like. Thank you for the dance. It was nice to get my mind off of everything.”

She drops into a formal curtsy, her skirts settling elegantly around her ankles. “Mine as well, my good sir. I had a lot of fun.”

Taking her hand, you lead her back to your friends at the edge of the table. She sits down, fanning her face and takes a deep drink of water, still smiling.

“Your turn Imtura,” you grin, always strange any time you’re standing taller than her as you lean against her chair and give her a nudge with your hip. “Dance with me?”

She raises an eyebrow, arching even over her mask, nearly to her horn. “Really landrat? Dancing?”

“You said you liked the music. Why not?” You’re trying not to wheedle her… but you’d really like her to say yes. You’ve been delicately avoiding a conversation this was likely to bring up…

“I can think of about thirty reasons,” she says, not quite frowning, but clearly baffled by you. “You want them in alphabetical order? I bet I can do it in all three languages.”

“Come on!” You hold your hand out towards her. “I’ll fend Adrina off later while you burn that dress?”

“What-”

But Imtura’s laugh drowns out Tyril’s protest. She’s grimacing, but she doesn’t resist you as she takes your hand and is being dragged to the dance floor willingly, the whirling elves moving out of your way to clear a space. “None of them wants to risk dirtying their skirts on me,” she mutters as they all but flutter away.

“Good. More room for us,” you shrug.

She gives you a quizzical look, like she isn’t sure what to make of you all over again. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but this, all this, isn’t really my scene.”

“And you think it’s mine?” You demand around a chuckle. “Give me a run down bar and some ale, and it’s the same difference. I don’t care. I want to be close with you, to dance with you.”

She brushes absently at her hair that’s tangling around her horns, leaving one hand to rest cautiously on the small of your back as your hands rest gently in the same space high on her back. “Well, you never need an excuse for that.” She clomps loudly around the dance floor, her movements not particularly in time to the music as she rests a cautious hand on your shoulder, cussing slightly at the shoes she’d been forced into. They are small heels, but they still give her a bit more height over you than usual. Gently, you move her hands to your waist.

“Maybe I should lead? Just do what I do,” you close your eyes, feeling the rhythm of the music as you draw Imtura slowly into a smooth, gliding step. “Hey, you’re getting-”

But Imtura stumbles, and your eyes snap open to see her actually looking around in embarrassment. “Sorry. You shoulda picked someone else here. I’m sure Nia would be-”

“Are, are you all right?” You peer up at her nervously, glancing towards the door if she needs some air. “You’re probably the only one here who can’t wait for the festivities to end and the fighting to start, I know. I was, just trying to help.”

She gives you a strange look. “That’s not what the rest of you are thinking?”

“Don’t know,” you shrug. “Once the fighting starts, there’s always the chance we lose though. I’m living in the moment.”

She throws an arm out, nearly smacking a passing elven lady in the face. “Nah! Whatever the Shadow Court throws our way, we’ll kick its ass!”

You frown anxiously back towards Tyril. “Tyril lost his last duel with whatever is possessing Kaya. He lost badly.”

Her smile is kind, sympathetic even, but not particularly moved as she shifts her weight around a little easier and continues the admittedly awkward dance. “Sure, but he didn’t have us with him!” You’re suddenly, vividly reminded she’d once had a duel with her mother apparently. Nothing must be crazier than that in her mind.

She lets you go, planting her fists on her hips, not so subtly flexing as she does and still following you now without contact on her end. Passing elves whisper behind their hands, but she doesn’t notice, or care.

“Oh, so you think the Shadow Court’s gonna be scared of an orc in a dress?” You can’t help but tease her now, running your hand a little lower down her hip. “It’s a very nice dress, I feel like I haven’t said that enough.”

She gives you a rogue smile. “A big strong orc in a dress. And with the amount of murderous fury I’ll have in me after wearing this blasted thing all night? They better run fast.” She winks at you. “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to ripping this thing off and fighting naked.”

A nearby elf gasps aloud. “Now that’s something I’d love to see,” you say… even if it would probably get you killed. It would be a fantastic way to die.

You take Imtura’s hand and lift her arm, ducking under it to twirl out and back again. You’re sure you look truly ridiculous, but you’ve never cared less in your life as she follows your movements with that smile, her tusks flashing a rainbow of colors every time light strikes them just right.

“Y’know Syrum, there’s nobody else I’d do this for,” she says again, but she’s really looking you in the eyes this time as she begins to slowly move with you once more, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip. There’s a strange sound to her voice.

“Dance?” You ask.

“Dance, wear a dress, do, this,” her grin softens, and for a second she just stands there, in the middle of the dance floor, your hand slipping into hers on your hip. “All this saving the world, for the greater good stuff. I hope you know how much that means, that I’m doing all this, for you.”

“I’m touched by your sacrifice,” you say seriously, mind scrambling desperately how to respond that wouldn’t sound too human-outlandish… then make a face of mock surprise, clapping a hand to your chest and batting your eyelashes at her. “What’s next? Cooking me dinner? Marriage? A cottage with a white picket fence?”

She snorts fantastically hard enough to earn another scandalized look. You wonder if someone should start keeping score. “Hah! I like you Syrum, but don’t push your luck.”

Laughing softly, you place your hands on her waist again, feeling the muscles her fancy dress can hardly contain.

“Imtura, there is no one else I would rather be dancing with,” you return, honestly shocked she has an insecure bone in her body. “I don’t care if we just jump up and down screaming in the middle of the dance floor like a Flotillan party. As long as I’m doing it with you, I will be having fun.”

Her smile is right back to that delightful one you were honestly falling in love with. It meant you were going to smile back without thought. “That sounds like it’d break about a hundred snooty elf rules.”

“Since when do you follow rules you don’t like?” You scoff.

Imtura laughs out loud, a familiar spark entering her eyes, making the golden-green of them gleam with mischief. “You know what? Glad you reminded me.” Her grip on your waist tightens, and you feel her strong arms flex around you.

You begin with a familiar nervous excitement, “What are you doing-”

“If I made the rules, dancing would be like this,” she lifts you completely off your feet and spins you around! The ballroom turns into a blur of colors as you fly through the air.

You’d never felt so exhilarated in your life as you throw your head back laughing, your legs wrapping around her thighs without thought..

Elves jump back, gasping! Imtura sets you down, grinning wide at the scandalized looks on all their faces. Then she raises her eyebrows at you. “So. Still like dancing with me?”

“You got any more ideas to scandalize snooty elves?” You beg, head spinning in the best way, now holding onto her for support.

“I’ve got dozens,” she promises.

There’s only a soft moment of a pause as the music continues. “I,” you bite your lip, and look away, but you can’t help but admit it either. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances.”

“Eh, fighting the Shadow Court’s as good a way to meet as any,” she says, clearly unconcerned about her what if’s. You envied that of her.

“I just,” you sigh as she pulls you a little closer. “I can never stop worrying about Kade. He’s lost in the Shadow Realm, and here I am, dancing.”

“Hm, that’s a different story,” she agrees, then accidentally steps on the toe of an elf who gets too close.

“Ow!” He yelps, giving her a blistering glare.

She gives him a better one right back, scorching. “Then give me some space!”

Gods you loved her bite… then you vaguely realize for the first time, she’d never accidentally stepped on you this entire time. A large part of you now almost suspected she was making sure the rest of them kept their distance. You actually, really kind of appreciated it, especially if it made her more comfortable to continue. It was hard to imagine her being afraid of anything. She turns back to you, expression softening. “We’ll get your brother back. I know we will.”

“And what if he’s like Kaya?” This hadn’t been what you wanted to talk about, but it was pouring out anyways as your heart trembles. “What if he’s already dead and I just don’t know it?”

Imtura shrugs, but somehow on her it doesn't look dismissive, only resigned. “Then we avenge him. Sometimes, that’s the best option you get.” One hand firmly holding yours, the other is back where it started, resting gently on your back, but now it feels supportive. Meant to be right there as her warm fingers spread wide and hold you close.

The music slows down and you step closer to her, resting your head against her shoulder in quiet acceptance of her words. It’s her who awkwardly steers you into another turn now. “Sounds like the song’s almost over.” You whisper in regret, now recognizing the pattern on the tunes, knowing she’d hurry off before you could ask for another one.

“Looks like you can’t get enough of me though,” she grins against your ear. You pull back and see her smiling down at you, tender expression out of palace on her scarred, tusked exterior. You tilt your head up and hers comes down to kiss you, lips rough. She pulls back surprisingly fast though…

“Imtura,” you whisper, hand moving all its own to pull her closer. Gods you’d missed the feel of her so much already…

She seems surprised, but then she grabs your chin, kissing you harder. Impossibly, you can still taste the sea on her lips, briny and fresh. “I do love when you moan my name,” she says huskily.

“Oh, you haven’t got me moaning yet,” you whisper, eyes fluttering in the world of colors.

She bites your lower lip, and a thrill races through you as your eyes sink back closed and you lean in for more. “That a challenge?”

“You know it is,” you smirk. Feeling the disapproving glances of the surrounding elves, you slowly open your eyes and grin, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against her neck, moving your hands down to cup her butt and pull her closer. “The elves are looking at us,” you chuckle into her ear. “I don’t think they believe in public displays of affection.”

“Hah!” Imtura’s moving plenty confidently now as she pulls you somehow closer. “Let’s show ‘em how orcs do it!” She throws a rude gesture at the elves before dipping you backwards and kissing your neck while cupping your groin appreciatively. The elves look away in genteel horror and you laugh loudly, but it turns into a gasp as she pulls you back upright and kisses you hungirly.

“Ohmph,” your hand digs in tight at her arm as she grabs your thighs, lifting you with ease so that you wrap your legs around her waist. Nobody else in the world exists as you bury your fingers in her hair and gasp in her scent as she runs her lips over your jaw.

“Sounded like a moan to me just then,” she smirks.

“Don’t get too full of yourself now,” you try to manage between a panting breath. You bite her lip back, smirking as you tug on it.

She shivers, breathing hard against your lips right back with a soft little, “ah,” of surprise. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

The elves are outright appalled now, giving you a wide berth, yet unable to tear their eyes away. “And I’ve been waiting to put on a show like this, damn them all,” you smirk right back. With a vibrant laugh, Imtura captures your lips one last time as you squeeze your thighs around her. You thread your fingers through her hair, tugging hard as she sets you down, making the kiss last as long as possible.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the others before they start the fighting without us,” she takes your hand and reluctantly steps back. You hadn’t even realized the music had ended.

“If we must,” you sigh, letting her lead you back to your friends still at the table.

“What was that you were so worried about Blue?” Mal smirks as Syrum drags off Imtura in front of every snooty nosed elf in sight to dance with. A human was certainly one thing, especially a little thing like Nia. There was no coming back from what the kit was doing now. “About wanting to fit in?”

Tyril sighs, and gives him a nod. “Fair enough. My worries were unfounded. If he doesn’t care, then I’m as happy for them as ever.”

Nia takes another sip of her water, and clearly realizes the part of the conversation she missed as she smiles at Mal. “I’m happy for him, not letting others make him feel different. He’s always been good about that to me.” She nibbles on another little cake for a moment, watching them, then looking back. “How are you doing by the way Mal? You seem to be taking all this in stride, but, is that true, or is it just your brave facade for the rest of us? You’ve been, very, displeased being here. More so than Imtura even.”

Mal gives her a wink. “That depends. Is my brave facade impressing you?”

A lesser person would have at least rebuked him. She just smiles sadly. “A little bit. Probably not as much as you being honest with us would be.”

Mal easily scoops out a snail and chews for a moment.

Tyril watches him with interest. “You seem surprisingly at home in this room for a petty thief. Have you attended many balls?”

He grins over, and tosses the shell in next, a loud crunch resonating as he chews and swallows already as he had to a plate full with the snail inside. “Hey, who you calling petty? I’ll have you know I’m at minimum a grand thief.” He reaches for a lobster arm next, cracking the shell open expertly and forking out the flesh with the same absent minded movement, and the right fork to boot. “Who has been to plenty of balls, thank you. If you need proof, I’ll dance the diamonds right off these elves!”

Nia delicately clears her throat, not to be ignored, even shooting Tyril a look to stop trying to let him out of her question.

Mal sighs, and looks back at her. “Look, the way I figure it, I’m in danger all the time. This way, at least that danger means something. I mean, if I’m willing to die for a bit of gold, I can’t really complain about dying to protect the whole world, right?”

“You can complain about anything Mal,” Tyril says in fond disbelief. There was a not so small dash of respect in his tone all the same.

“You’ve almost got that right, Blue,” he winks. Tyril stares back, opening his mouth, but Mal’s already looking away, clearly still speaking to Nia. “Who could complain about spending time with you three, eh?”

Tyril huffs behind him, and Mal’s smirk grows. There’s a not so small, collective gasp from behind them, and they look over to see Imtura has actually picked up Syrum and is actively necking with him in the middle of the dance floor.

“Oh my,” Nia murmurs in surprise, watching for a moment, then her eyes darting away, then looking back with curiosity on repeat several times.

Mal laughs, loud and raucous. “Knew the kit had it in him if he’d just get his own foot out of his mouth. This can’t be their first time at it either, I knew that sexual tension had worn off somewhere out in those woods.”

“Mal-” Nia’s fanning her face all over again.

“You do remember we aren’t supposed to be drawing too much attention to ourselves, yes?” Tyril sighs in a long suffering voice of one who’d already known he’d lost the battle, if not the war, as he stayed in place and turned back around. “... but it is intriguing. They do seem to share both great amounts of Kilvali and Dinvali,” Tyril said with interest and a shrug of his own.

Mal smacked his lips for a moment and took a long drink of wine. “I’ve got this saying Tyril, maybe I just made it up right now, but anyways-”

Nia’s loud laugh does nothing to drown him out.

“Life ain’t fun without a little risk!”

“That sums you up well,” Tyril agrees, as uncouth as he could be as he reaches over to Mal’s plate and steals a stuffed mushroom.

Mal rolls his eyes and deftly continues speaking to Nia as if the constant interruptions weren’t making him grin. “Besides kiddo, it’s hard to complain about any amount of risk it took to get to know you guys.”

“Ah Mal,” Nia flutters her hand down her braid in embarrassment, but there’s a sudden sadness to her eyes too as she looks from Syrum and back.

“Yeah, I know you two are hurting a lot,” Mal nods, pushing his plate towards Tyril and leaning on the table so she won’t look away, her eyes glistening in a tell-tell way. “Everybody wonders why me when bad shit happens to them. Kade didn’t do anything to deserve this anymore than your old Scholar.”

Nia sniffs, and looks steadily at him with a sad smile of agreement.

“I was asking myself the same thing at first,” he gently reminds her. “I was just trying to rob that temple. Why was I being dragged into this mess by a couple of newborn kit’s? You two though, I don’t think I ever would have taken responsibility for this without knowing someone needed to help you two not run off and die.” He is now very clearly ignoring Tyril’s eyes digging into the back of his shoulder with interest. “I wouldn’t be trying to stop the evil I helped bring into the world.”

“Oh, Mal,” Nia flings her arm around him in a hug.

He sighs, and hugs her back. “So, maybe that’s why you, and Syrum, okay? You two have made me a better man, and I wouldn’t trade you little idiots away for anyone no matter where I have to follow, okay?”

“You’re too kind Mal,” Nia tells him as she pulls back and beams up at him. “You must not think your accomplishments rely on us, I know you. You may not carry magic, but you are just as full of Light as any of us.”

“Get out of here with that Red or I’ll eat your cat,” Mal rolls his eyes. Threep has fallen asleep across the table, half a salmon-eel still in his mouth and so can’t glare at him.

“We’re gone for five minutes and you’re still on that Mal,” you laugh as you plop into a chair, shifting your weight uncomfortably for a moment to help encourage your blood to slow and flow somewhere else. “Did you want to dance? I don’t think they’ve had enough party animals out there yet.”

He open his mouth, but-

Suddenly, a hush falls over the ballroom as everyone turns to the grand staircase, where ‘Kaya,’ was descending.

She steps into the light at the top, the scepter from the mural in the crypts resting regally in her arm. “Welcome! Welcome one and all!” Tyril looks like he’s going to be ill as she waves her hand and begins to speak. You place a cautious hand on his arm, unsure what you’re restraining him from doing, but he does keep his seat. “I do so hope you’re enjoying yourselves at this year’s Ancestral Masquerade. And, I trust you find House Duskraven’s accommodations rather more befitting this elegant event than last years…”

Tyril’s face is hard, cold stone as if he were already slowly being turned to glass.

She gestures expansively with the scepter, and you all tense preparing for magic, but she only points to the food. “Midnight is nearly upon us, and the time for the commemoration draws near. Eat. Drink. Celebrate! For you are among your peers: the esteemed and the powerful that rules all of Undermount. Let the masquerade begin!”

The orchestra starts back up as Kaya saunters down the grand staircase to raucous applause.

You snort in disbelief at her and turn wearily away. “This is it. She has all of eleven high society in the same room. She can use the scepter to wipe them out at literally any moment.”

Imtura’s watching her impatiently. “So all we need to do is swipe the scepter, unmask her, and kill her. Preferably in that order, but I’m not picky.”

“She’s cradling that thing like it’s her damned baby,” Mal shakes his head. “We need a distraction. Something that would make her set it down. It’s to bad you two couldn’t have danced a little longer, that might have outraged her enough-”

“KAYA DUSKRAVEN!”

Mal’s mouth snaps shut as, before you can stop him, Tyril storms toward the stairs, eyes locked on hers. A hush falls over the crowd.

Threep had startled awake, a bit of fish scale stuck to his fur. “Well, this isn’t going to go well.”

“What is he doing?” Nia gasps.

“Being the distraction,” You mutter unpleasantly. “We have to be ready.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Nia moans, her face a whole new kind of worry. “What is he thinking?! Tyril already knows he can’t beat her! She could just turn him to glass right here!”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. Look,” Mal hasn’t taken his eyes off the scene as whispers swirl around the ballroom while Tyril strides toward Kaya, who watches with an amused smile on her face.

“Yes, little lord? Whatever could it be that you want?” She croons.

“Lady Duskraven, I challenge you to a duel. For the honor of House Starfury!”

You are going to be sick. It is horrifying to hear gasps and cheers, several guests murmuring in excitement about entertainment arriving.

Kaya just strokes her cheek with a simpering smile. “If only House Starfury had any honor left.”

Tyril rips his house signet ring off his finger and throws it at her feet. “If I lose, then House Starfury, whatever's left of it that you haven’t already taken, is yours. And if I win-”

“You won’t,” she cackles, stroking her scepter as if it were a nesper.

“If I win,” Tyril repeats, fire in his voice the likes of which should scare any sane person more than the ice he exuded. He was a power unto himself. “You die. That’s victory enough. No weapons. Magic against magic. Do you accept?”

Your heart is in your throat as you watch Kaya’s eyes flash in fury. But then she steps off the last stair and lays the scepter on a velvet-draped chair, nodding to a burly garud to stand watch over it. “I accept.”

“Here’s where we make our move,” Mal mutters, though his quiet caution is needless, you are on nobody's mind right as he slips through the crowd, moving around the backs of tables. You and the rest of your friends try to follow along his agile path.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

You’d been wrong, several elves are glaring at all of you trying to skirt around.

“I knew this riffraff was up to no good, sneaking around during a masquerade, those awful lowlifes! Guards!”

“We need a distraction from the distraction!” Threep pleads from Nia’s shoulder, fluttering his wings as Mal freezes tables away, eyes darting between the scepter and the three of you.

OR BOLAS OR

With a wild flare of hope, you shout, “hey, don’t look at us! Look at Kaya! She’s not actually Kaya! She’s a member of the Shadow Court!”

To your eyes, it seemed obvious. What few places the bright magic and candles couldn’t reach in this room were fluttering and bending right towards Kaya.

Nobody else seemed to notice, let alone believe you. “What is this nonsense? What gives you the right to make such an unfounded claim?”

“I-” you stop, desperation lodged in your throat.

“Look! A nesper!” Imtura shouts.

“What are you-” Threep asks in surprise, but Imtura grabs him by the scruff of his neck and holds him high over her head. Nearby elves gasp.

“That orc has a nesper!?” One of them shouts as if something were falling from the heavens.

“Look at how she manhandles our Exalted One!” Another woman shrieks as if Imtura were strangling an infant.

While their attention is thoroughly away, Mal’s doubled back, but then gives you a solid nudge with his elbow in relief. “It’s you and me on this kit.”

OR BOLAS OR

Inspiration strikes as you look from Imtura, to the nearest candelabra on a table and dart toward the curtains, touching the flame to the cloth without further hesitation. That should be plenty distracting. “Oops, clumsy me,” you mutter, slipping away quickly as the flames devour the rich cloth. An elf notices and screams.

“F-fire!”

“Quick, put it out!”

The nearby elves all grab goblets of water and throw them at the fire, their attention successfully diverted.

“Haha, nice one. Those curtains were ugly as hell anyway,” Imtura nods in approval.

You resist the urge to make a filthy joke right now about the color of her curtains as Mal grabs your arm and pulls you ahead while the girls linger back in case you needed round two. “It’s you and me on this kit.”

OR BOLAS OR

Your hand darts toward the buffet table, and with Imtura’s inspiration ringing in the back of your ears, you snatch up a whole cake and lob it at the nearest elf’s head. At least it hadn’t been the whole table.

“My hair! My silks!”

“It was her,” you gasp quickly, pointing toward another woman right across the table.

“You heathen!” The man gasps. You hope the frosting was at least good as he grabs a clump of icing out of his hair and throws it at the elf. It splats straight into her face. You had to grudgingly admire his aim, archer to archer.

“Agh! I knew you were jealous of my looks, you, you oaf!”

The two begin pummling each other with food, Imtura taking inspiration and hefting handfuls of pastries into the throng. “Hah! This party’s finally getting really started!”

Mal grabs your arm before you can do more than flash her a grin. “It’s you and me on this kit.”

“The girls get all the fun,” you agree as Nia tentatively knocks a plate to the ground, fingers spasming an apology even as she kicks it while you and Mal duck around the chaos, into the shadows beneath the stairs, where you lie in wait for the perfect moment.

On the dance floor, Tyril and Kaya square off. She circles him slowly, a wreath of dark energy flowing from her palm, up her arm. There’s something of approval in her that makes you loathe her existence more every step. “You’ve changed Tyril. This new thirst for vengeance suits you. You could have made a powerful ally. A pity it has to end this way.”

Without warning, she flings a fistful of crystalline ice shards at him. Tyril spins out of its path, features tightened in determination. You choke back a scream, remembering the ghoul. “It is a pity, but not for me.”

He deftly dodges another of Kaya’s attacks, and counters with a column of black flame. She twirls out of its path just in time. “Hrmph. So you really have learned a few things.”

Tyril slams his palms to the ground, and a circle of fire erupts around Kaya, trapping her in its ring. “I’m just getting started.”

Half the ballroom is focused on your friends, the other on the duel. Mal taps your shoulder, and flicks his eyes toward the scepter, and the guard before it. You drag your eyes away from Tyril same as him, and nod. “It’s now or never,” he whispers.

OR BOLAS OR

A cry goes up from the crowd as Tyril and Kaya’s magic clashes in midair. The guard can’t help turning to watch, leaving his back completely exposed on his duty. “Oooh, get him Lady Kaya!”

Your fingers twitch to strangle his neck, but it’s not the time as you wink at Mal, easing slightly out, staying low, your fingers creeping toward the chair and its cursed cargo.

“Oh no!” The guard gasps.

You jerk back as the guard recoils from a shower of ice shards, waiting until he presses forward again to watch the ongoing battle with all his attention. You dart forward and curl your fingers around the handle of the scepter, pulling it off the chair and back into the shadows where you hand it to Mal.

“Damn kit, nice going.” He nods, knife needlessly drawn.

“I learned from the best,” you smirk.

Nia and Imtura finally come over to join you under the staircase.

OR BOLAS OR

You can’t stand to have this go on another second, waiting only long enough the guard isn’t looking before you dart forward and snatch it into your hand. But as you turn, the guard spots you out of the corner of his eye.

“You dirty little thief!” He cries. He whips a dagger out of the air and throws it. You feel the tug as it slices clean through your side, and you gasp in pain at the icy burn as your hand slaps down far to late, while the scepter clatters to the ground.

He draws another, rearing his arm back, eyes locked on your throat-

“Don’t think so,” Mal snarls, smashing the pommel of his own dagger into the back of his head. The guard collapses, unconscious.

“S-sorry,” you gasp, pressing down tight as blood seeps through your fingers. “Thanks, I, I thought-”

“We got the scepter,” Mal reminds, kicking it up into his hand as you limp under the stairs with his hand carefully on your other side. “And lived to tell the tell. We’re calling this a win.”

You stare at him blankly for several moments, your mind scrambling to figure out what was wrong with this scene, and it wasn’t you bleeding. Finally, it clicks. “How did you smother your dagger in?!”

“Same way Tyril did that stinger kit, come on,” Mal sighs at you, tugging your hand aside to see the damage.

OR BOLAS OR

You tap Mal on the shoulder and point at yourself, mouthing the word, ‘distraction.’

He nods, giving you a confident smile to hide the grim look in his eyes. You give him the same look back as you pretend to drunkenly stumble forward, landing in the arms of the guard. “Wasss going on? Whhasss Lady Duskraven doin’?” You slur up at him with big eyes.

“Get off me!” He tries to dump you to the ground, but you only double over, grabbing the front of the guards armor with a moan. “Ugggh, I think I’m gunna hurl….”

“Ugh! Get off of me!” He shoves you away, and while you reel and wave your arms, trying to cling to him for all your worth, Mal creeps into position, easing the scepter off the chair and carrying it back into the shadows as another bang fills the room from, everything.

“Alri, allrii,” you nod, mock standing up straighter and tipping one way. “You don’ hafta push me… rude…” You stagger away from the garud in the other direction, before circling around to join Mal.

He grins, scepter in hand. “That was some fine acting kit.”

“Let’s not discuss how much real experience that was all based on,” you mutter as Imtura and Nia join you.

“You got the scepter!” Nia says in relief.

Mal does not seem pleased with it, holding it delicately in his hand with the least amount of fingers at arm's length. It’s a simple gold staff with a dark black globe on the end, twinkling in the light faintly. “I gotta say, I’ve held a lot of magic relics in my day, but none felt quite as scary as this.”

“What are you waiting for? Break the damn thing,” Imtura says impatiently.

Mal nods, and smashes the scepter against the ballroom floor. It shatters with ease, but the crystal head is hollow, no hint of the malevolent Onyx Shard in the rubble.

“No! The Shard has to be in there!” You gasp, falling to your knees, reaching for the rubble to dig through it-

But you hear a scream of delight, and terror tells you where to look back. Tyril unleashes another devastating fire barrage, but Kaya coats herself in a shield of ice. He shatters the shield, but Kaya remains unharmed.

“I’ll admit,” she sneers, not even looking winded. “You’re better than the pitiful weakling I remember. But it’s not enough.”

“You haven’t seen half of what I can do,” Tyril snarls. A ribbon of flames lashes out from his hand. Kaya moves to dodge, but she’s too slow this time. The fireball streaks across her face, searing through her cheek.

“AAUUGHH!” She roars in pain this time, flames of shadow leaping off the wound… in a pattern you’ve seen only once before.

Duke Erthax had the exact same cloak of power around him as their wounds are exposed...

Kaya tries to beat out the flames twisting into her hair, her clothes, but they’re magical, impervious. They blacken her already dark skin to an unwholly mask of withering flesh, eating through it… revealing the monstrous shadowy woman beneath.

Her hair is thick and white cascading down to her skin, now ashen gray. There are horns erupting from the top of her head like nothing you had seen they could resemble. Her eyes are blood red, thick streaks of darker veins patterning their way down her neck. Her dress is murky black and gold.

Patrons begin to scream, and flee. “Stars above!”

“That’s Duchess Xenia!” Nia screams. “She’s part of the actual Shadow Court!”

“YOU!” Tyril rages hotter than the fire that had cooked her revelation. “You’re the one who corrupted Kaya! Who lured her to the crypts, who killed her! This is your END!”

“No, you sad, pathetic little creatures. It’s yours.” The shadow woman stretches to her full height, towering over all the gathered elves who are still trembling in place. Dark tendrils leap from her fingertips in all directions.

“Agh!” Several drag you and the rest of your friends out into the center of the room.

Laughing, the monstrous duchess turns her attention back to the rest of the party. “And you, my people, my sweet, desperate fools! How eager were you to admit me to your ranks? You're as ambitious and greedy as I am.”

“Wh-what do you want, from us?” One woman manages to stammer.

“ Everything!”

While struggling in your bindings, you notice something darker than the rest of the shadows around Xenia. Something embedded in the center of her glittering crown. “The Shard! She’s wearing it! The scepter was a ruse, the Shard was in her crown all along!”

“We have to, stop her!” Tyril snarls. He thrashes in the tendrils grasp, but makes no more progress than you do- until there is a sudden cry from the top of the stairs.

“We are nothing like you!” It’s Adrina, standing on the balcony above, a bow in hand. The Light-infused arrow she lets loose streaks down and strikes Xenia in the arm.

“AAAAUUGHH!” The duchess lets out an earth-shattering howl, and her shadowy tendrils loosen. You and your friends fall to the ground.

“I’ll go for the crown,” Tyril snaps orders. “Keep her distracted!”

As he darts forward, you turn to the panicked elves. You smash a crystal goblet to draw their attention and leap onto a table. “Elves of Undermount! You are better than this!” Gods you wanted to believe that at any rate, as images rush to your mind of your human village swarming together to chase off an owl-bear, mending broken fences, and helping thatch roofs after horrible storms; or the fierceness in any orc you’d met. It had to be somewhere in them!

You draw yourself up to your full height, showing no fear for the madness around you. “Duchess Xenia may try to compare your petty rivalries to the evil she and her kind allow to fester, but she is wrong! She is a creature of shadow and malice! You are heirs to the elven empire! Don’t let her make you doubt yourselves! It was your people who drove back the Dreadlord once! You can help us do it again!”

The lords and ladies of the elven court glance at each other nervously. Then, one steps forward. “Guards! Everyone! Find your weapons! We will defend Undermount!”

“We’ll defeat this fiend!” Another rallies to join in.

As the elves grab weapons and rush toward Duchess Xenia, Tyril makes a sudden lunge for the crown on her head from behind her.

“Back you fools!” She smashes him to the floor with a rain of black ice, hardly even putting her eyes on him.

Tyril’s cry of pain makes a scream of your own join the cacophony as Xenia’s voice rises above you all, reverberating off the walls until she sounds like a chorus of hundreds. “The last time we rose, it took the combined armies of the elven empire to drive us back! Do you think this paltry room of forgotten glory can defeat me?”

There is a low boom, and the floor whips forward, throwing dozens of elves backwards. Duchess Xenia alone stands tall, not even swaying from the quake. You’re thrown from the table… right towards her, landing hardly a foot away.

You don’t hesitate, you can’t, or all would be lost. With a burst of magical energy, rage churning through you, heating your blood, you ruthlessly push your magic into the air around you as you rise to your feet, sweating as the air itself begins to ripple with heat. You channel it into your hands, feeling your fingertips warm, first fever-hot, then hotter, burning like candle wicks, like the sun itself.

Red floods your vision, the whole world as you scream, “burn in hell, you traitor!”

The fireball explodes out of your palms, consuming Xenia in a raging inferno. Her scream of pain is a mercy to your ears.

She tumbles back, engulfed in the flickering hungry barrage- then she snaps her fingers, and the fire dissipates in a burst of steam.

Her eyes land on you for the first time with a menacing smile. “You, will pay, for that.” Her fangs dig into her own skin, causing a bloody twist of her lips in joy.

The Onyx Shard at Xenia’s brow pulses with purple light as she raises her hand right in your face- and you whip out of your sleeve the drakna queen’s stinger sliding into your grip.

You lunge that last bit of space, and with a wild yell of fury, you stab with all your might right into the center of her chest. “ Die !” you snarl as the cloth you’d so carefully protected yourself with flutters away.

She hisses and thrashes as poison floods into her veins, trying to rip it out. “What did you, do to, me?!” She flares out her hands, but her magic sputters out.

“I’m just getting started,” you pant, glaring back. “Now’s our chance!”

Your friends move as one.

“In the name of the Light, I expel the darkness!” A blinding blast of Light streaks out of Nia’s hands as powerful as yours. Xenia jerks back, snarling, and Imtura bursts up from behind a table.

“You take my weapons, will ya?! This is what you get!” She wields two jagged chair legs, and hurls them like spears. One plunges into Xenia’s side, the other impaling her shoulder.

Xenia seems more angry than in pain as she tries to whirl again, “you insolent-”

“Oh you want insolent?” Mal cackles. “Try me on for size!” With a garrote made of a twisted tablecloth, Mal grabs her around the neck, pulling tight.

She wretches with an ear splitting, “hhhkkk!” trying to buck him off. Incapacitated, blinded, and bleeding, Xenia writhes… and Tyril steps forward, dark flames swirling around his hands.

“Kaya Duskraven was a kind, caring, and compassionate friend. And you’re not worth the earth she stood on!” Jets of fire flare out of his hands and whip around her face, straight into her temple.

“ No !” She wailed as a seismic eruption sends you all flying into the wall. You lift your ringing head, shaking the blurriness from your eyes, to see Xenia panting in the middle of the ballroom.

“Syrum, here!” Adrina winds up and hurls something down toward you… something that shines bright and majestic with magic… you catch your bow of Gal’Dariel and roll to your feet, aiming straight for the Duchess’s gut. Your arrow flies, punching through her. Tendrils of Light radiate from the wound, spreading like flames.

“AAuuugh!”

Her scream makes you spit out a glob of blood from your mouth and sneer back. “It’s over!”

Behind you, around you, Adrina’s rushing down the stairs with the rest of your friends' weapons, as Xenia pivots toward you, snarling as her hands turn into jagged claws. The arrow in place quivers, but isn’t working fast enough. “This is far from over, filthling.”

You eye the crown on her head, the Shard pulsing within it. You let loose another arrow with blind, axiom rage that thuds into Xenia’s forehead. The crown flies off, and she staggers back.

“Hkkkh- you-”

“Me,” you agree viciously as the crown rolls across the floor. Tyril stops it with his boot, panting, but still standing. Xenia howls, lunging toward him.

“That is mine!”

She’s knocked back by a blast of Light. Nia steps in front of Tyril, arms spread wide as she conjures a protective globe of holy Light. “He is under my protection!”

You and the rest of your friends rush to her side, never taking your eyes off the Duchess.

“You’re nothing without that Shard!” Imtura scoffs, twirling her axe gratefully in her hand. Her dress is torn to shreds up her thighs and there’s a stain and burn patterned in. She’s never looked more fearsome.

“Just an old skeleton living on borrowed time,” Mal agrees with a proud lilt to his voice while he pulls one of his regular knives out and gives it a twirl while the elven one rests ready against his forearm.

Every elf in the ballroom gathers in a loose arc around you, magic sparkling at their fingertips and weapons in hand.

“If you want that crown, you’ll have to defeat all of us!”

“We will protect the heir to House Starfury with our lives!” The denizens of Undermount cry.

“What do you say Xenia?” You sneer, arrow nocked and ready. “Think you can take us all?”

Her eyes dart around the room, taking in your weapons and the magic shimmering in the air. Then, with a howl of primal fury, she disappeared in a burst of black flames.

“She’s running?!” You can hardly believe your eyes. You’d really wanted to launch a dozen more arrows into her face. “Did she escape back to the Shadow Realm?!”

Tyril carefully picks up the crown, the Onyx Shard glowing with a dark light. “She’s still linked to this Shard. I can feel her. She’s transported herself outside of Undermount, but she’s still in this realm. This is our only chance to stop her. I won’t let her escape!”

“What are we waiting for, let’s go get her,” you agree. “Let’s end this!”

“Wait, not alone-”

“There’s no time, and you three won’t keep up,” Tyril all but snaps, already steering you, pushing you away.

“I-” but you throw an apologetic look over your shoulder and easily find yourself keeping up with his insane pace.

“This is personal, Syrum,” he says it in his flat, cold way that used to make you feel like a freak, like an outsider in his world. Now you hear it for what it really is. He won’t have them getting hurt on his account. “There’s a shortcut to the top. This way!” The two of you sprint through the hidden passages of Undermount, bursting out into the night atop the towering mountainside.

“There!” You call.

You can barely make out the cloud of shadows around Duchess Xenia down the slope. Tyril follows your gaze, narrowing his eyes. “Undermount’s magic is too strong for her to transport herself directly into the Shadow Realm. She needs to get clear of the mountain first!”

“And we’re going to stop her,” you agree, taking off after her, wind whipping over your faces. Her injuries slow her down immensely, and she glances over her shoulder as you gain on her. The tip of that drakna stinger has left an enormous jagged hole in her center. The sparks from your arrow are still fizzling out as she gasps for breath. The flames that Tyril had burned into her make every move look like her last.

The look she gives the pair of you is so loathsome with hatred, you are surprised you’re not withering on the spot and dropping dead.

“Go ahead and run, Xenia,” you crow, aching to peg her again, but waiting for Tyril’s call to know how best to keep tackling this problem.

OR BOLAS OR

“Run, like the coward you are! You thought you could corrupt all of Undermount, but that was pure arrogance!” You jeer, just begging for her to try and strike back at you. “Without the Shard, you’ve tucked your tail between your legs!”

“This ends now!” Tyril roars. Dark flames race from his palms and lash around Xenia. She screams and crumples to the ground.

OR BOLAS OR

“Run, because that’s all you can do! Your body is broken and your power has been taken from you! You’re cornered and you know it!”

“This ends now!” Tyril roars. Dark flames race from his palms and lash around Xenia. She screams and crumples to the ground.

OR BOLAS OR

“We’re not tired!” You jeer. “We love the chase! You’re just making this fun for us!” The dark words come from nowhere as you long to see her tremble for every second Kade’s been gone.

“This ends now!” Tyril roars. Dark flames race from his palms and lash around Xenia.

She screams and crumples to the ground. “AAahhhhh!” She flips over, raising her hands above her. Swirling clouds gather in the sky, black lighting sparking from their center. “You, you will all pay, for this-”

“It’s a portal!” Tyril warns. “She’s trying to escape to the Shadow Realm.”

OR BOALS OR

Like hells she will. Magic flares around you in response. “Light, pierce the darkness!” The words ring from your core as your bow falls and your hands slap together in a clap radiating off the top of the mountain. “Shine down upon us and banish this shadow forever from our realm!”

Your magic responds, Light rushing from your hands, fiercer than you’ve ever managed before. You close your eyes, unable to even look upon it. But you hear Xenia’s screams as it engulfs her, and smell the smoke of the evil burning from her body! “RRRAHHGGG!”

The magic rips through her, piercing every inch of her body until she glows against the night. Her words come garbled, but full of hatred. “Do not think you can stand against the Dreadlord mortals! He will reap upon you a hundredfold what you have done to me!”

OR BOLAS OR

Not on your quiver she isn’t! You release your loaded arrow and watch with hateful satisfaction as it pieces her heart, the power you’d put behind it slicing deeper than anything you’ve ever struck. It goes right through her, another gaping wound in her torso, bones and blood spraying out from her in a gruesome pattern.

Light bursts from her again, and she screams as it engulfs her, cracking through every pore of her skin. The magic ripples through every inch of her body until she glows against the night. You smell the smoke of the evil burning from her body. “RRRAHHGGG!”

Her words come garbled, but full of hatred. “Do not think you can stand against the Dreadlord mortals! He will reap upon you a hundredfold what you have done to me!”

OR BOLAS OR

You still can’t help but watch Tyril for guidance, though you fear greatly how much magic he’s already expanded tonight, all you can think to do is guard him as he steps forward, one last time. “Finish her,” you rasp for all the pain she’s caused.

Tyril takes another step, then another, cold fury in his eyes. Magic sparks at his fingertips, raising goosebumps along your flesh. The moon, the deepest depths of the ocean, the unexplored caverns of the world howl at his command. “This is for Kaya.”

Raging fire consumes Duchess Xenia, melting her flesh, curdling her screams into one choked sound of agony. “RRRAHHGGG!”

Tyril takes a final step forward, drawing his blade. He stands over her as the magic fades, leaving her a charred husk on the ground. His lip curls as he stares down at her. You can feel his hatred permeating the air, and it makes you shiver, your breath should come out frosted. “Maybe,” he agrees simply. “But you’ll still be dead.”

Then he plunges the blade down, right through her gaping mouth, severing her spinal cord and killing her instantly.

You watch her remains collapse into a glowing pile of flame and ashes, only to be picked up by the wind and blown away.

“It, is over.” But his voice is tight, and when you take a step toward him, you see he’s glaring out over the mountaintops, tension on every line of his body.

“You avenged Kaya,” you whisper the obvious… and your heart aches for him still, for yourself. “Do you feel…?”

“Happy? Relieved? Vindicated?” He murmurs. He throws down his blade. “No. I just feel tired. And still so angry. How much death did it take before we killed this one piece of the Shadow Court?!”

You put away your bow, and put a cautious, gentle hand on his shoulder. “But no one else will die at Xenia’s hands. We’ve made the future a little brighter.”

He tenses, before letting out a long breath. “You’re right, of course. There is one less speck of evil in the world. One more spark of hope… I could not have done this without you, Syrum. I couldn’t-” His voice chokes out, and when he turns to face you, a whirlwind of emotions swirls in his eyes.

“Come here,” you smile weakly. “You need a hug.” You open your arms cautiously, unsure if he’ll agree, but to your surprise, Tyril steps into them, his own coming around you tight. You feel the fatigue rolling off of him, the grief, the hatred for enemies you have yet to face as he holds you close. “It’ll be okay,” you whisper, begging yourself to believe it still. “One day, it’ll all be okay.” You rub a hand up and down his back, and he holds you tighter.

“Thank you, Syrum. In the end, I’m glad I didn’t have to finish this alone.” There’s something wet trickling down the back of your neck, and you tuck your face against his neck and just hold him.

It isn’t until the darkness of night has given way to the cool pink light of dawn that Tyril bends to pick up the crown and its residing shard along with his sword, and you make your slow, painful way back into Undermount.

Your friends are waiting for you back at Duskraven manor, of course, worry and a might bit of anger radiating off of them for being left behind… but that instantly melts away as you two fall into the folds of their safety.

Tyril sags heavily against you, and you bring him over to the tables. Adrina approaches, picking her way through the rubble of the ballroom. “Brother?”

He’s back on his feet in a single moment, taking her arm and pulls her in close, hugging her tight. “You were an amazing help, little sister. You changed everything.”

He sets the crown on the table and breaks it open so she could see the prize her bravery had won you all. The Shard rolls free…

Three down.

“There it is,” you manage, throat raw and aching as you glare down at it. “The Shard that’s caused so much misery here.”

“The sooner it’s purified, the better,” Tyril instantly agrees.

“Hey, we’re making progress, right?” Mal says, putting a gentle hand on Tyril’s shoulder and giving him a shake. “Only one more to go!”

Tyril doesn’t respond, still watching it. You feel a deep ache of pain already for that silence you’d better start getting used to.

“Just off to Whitetower…” Nia solemnly agrees, a strange catch in her voice as she looks off towards her home.

The elves gingerly make their way toward you, some lying injured on the floor. One drops to a knee before Tyril. “Tyril of House Starfury, on behalf of the Council of Houses, we wish to offer you our humblest apology.”

OR BOLAS OR

“You will be forgiven,” you murmur, genuine pity in your voice for the state of this place as you look around. You feel Tyril’s eyes on you, but he says nothing still. “The Shadow Court’s power knows no bounds. You cannot be blamed for your weakness in succumbing to their spell.”

“Though you might have noticed something over a year,” Imtura says with enough spite of her own.

“I will blame none of you for your actions,” Tyril says, pausing for an extra moment to breathe. “ This time. But, I expect to see you’ve learned from your errors.”

“You are merciful, my lord,” the man says with deep gratitude.

“On behalf of the Council of Houses, I motion to render null and void all agreements made or broken under Duchess Xenia,” a woman adds adamantly.

OR BOLAS OR

That inferno is still raging within you as you glare down at him. All the fight has left you though, leaving you feeling ragged at the edge of every nerve as you snap, “you should be ashamed! It shouldn’t have taken a member of the Shadow Court to show you how awful you were being to him!” Tyril doesn’t move to stop you, nor does he move to defend the man, and you’re not done. “How did you not notice you were sheltering an actual monster? For a year!”

“We, were wrong not to notice the deceiver,” a woman agrees, head bowed humbly. “But her magic is powerful and deep. She could have fooled anyone.”

You want to scoff, you want to rage at them… but then you remember Belana, and you know what a right hypocrite you were being. None of you would have figured this out if you hadn’t gone investigating.

“We owe Tyril our lives, and our souls, for exposing her!” The man still kneeling all but begs.

“On behalf of the Council of Houses, I motion to render null and void all agreements made or broken under Duchess Xenia,” the woman adds adamantly.

“House Starfury’s debts will be cleared and your ranking in the Council of Houses restored,” the man says in the exact same way.

There’s a sudden commotion and rising murmur of voices from the door before Tyril can respond. “Oh- oh my stars- my boy!”

You turn toward the muffled sob of joy and see Valir Starfury pushing through the crowd. He embraces a stunned Tyril with wild arms. “My son! You’ve more than proven yourself the leader House Starfury deserves! I think it’s time to name you Lord.”

You stand there, bracing yourself as you try to look away, but can’t, taking in your last look at him. The familial act of love, the way Tyril would never have to be apart from him again-

“Father, I- it would be an honor,” Tyril says, hugging him back tight… but there’s something strange in his voice- “but I can’t.”

He gently takes his father by the arms and steps out of his embrace. “I have a promise to keep. To Kaya. And to my friends. We must see the Shadow Court destroyed for good. But it was Adrina who attacked Duchess Xenia when she had all of us under her spell. It was Adrina who saved us all. She is the future of House Starfury.”

“Oh!” She blushes the brightest of purple as Tyril pulls his sister into another hug.

“I’ve seen the way you manage the manor,” he continues with booming words that carry to every corner. “And how you’ve cared for Father and me over the years. You deserve it, Lady Stafrfury.”

“Adrina, you are a worthy heir to my house,” Lord Starfury instantly agrees.

The elves bow deeply before Adrina. After only a moment of hesitation, you do as well amid the soft whispers in the crowd.

The man kneeling finally rises, his face alight with joy. “Lady Starfury, it is our pleasure to welcome you to the Council of Houses.”

“Thank you, my lords and ladies. And Tyril, Syrum, all of you!” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. You're resisting the urge not to blush and back away from all this by now, but Tyril catches your eye, and you find you can’t dare to do it. “Thank you for everything!” She shouts and the crowd actually cheers.

…

The following night, Tyril and the rest of you gather to lay Kaya’s spirit to rest.

“Kaya Duskraven was the bravest, cleverest, noblest elf I have ever met,” Tyril’s voice carries to the stars in a deep goodbye from where he kneels in place. “She abhorred injustice and fought for knowledge and understanding. She taught me so much. To honor our past as elves but also challenge it too. To right the wrongs of our forebears. She gave her life trying to undo the harm done by the Shadow Court. Though she didn’t succeed alone, we will finish her work.”

“Hear, hear!” Mal cheers, right beside him on the pedestal.

“May the Light guide her spirit and see it reborn in innocence,” Nia manages amid her freely flowing tears just behind them a step away.

You have a tight arm around her, as well as Threep, who’s sniffling in her arms. “And may the Old Gods bless her memory.” He chokes out.

“Hrmph,” Imtura mutters awkwardly from the doorway. “I’m not much for speeches, but I hope you rest better now, knowing no one’s walking around in your skin.”

You bite your lip and resist the ridiculous urge to laugh, you wouldn’t dare as Tyril bows over the empty casket and swipes away his tears. “We miss you greatly, Kaya. From the Light we came, to the Light we return. May you walk among the stars.”

“Your spirit lives on in Tyril,” you say in the exact same tone as him. You’d never even met her, but she represented something so deep to you it didn’t matter as love poured out of you. “I wish I could have met you, Kaya. But I almost feel like I have. Everything you taught Tyril, we’re all learning from him now.

Tyril smiles at you gratefully. “That’s a wonderful way to think of it, thank you Syrum.”

“We won’t let your death be in vain,” Mal adds, shifting restlessly in place as he scans his eyes furiously over every inch of this malignant room. “Duchess Xenia was stopped in your name Kaya, and we’ll crush the rest of the Shadow Court as well.”

Tyril nods decisively. “For Kaya, and for everyone who has suffered for the Shadow Court’s greed.”

With a whisper of magic, he dims the candles around the chamber until they offer only the faintest glimmer of light, like twinkling stars…

“Kaya Duskraven,” Tyril murmurs, eyes closed as if in prayer. “Tonight we commend you to the starlight. And tomorrow, we end this. Once and for all.”

#blades of light and shadow #choices bolas #choices fanfic

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