Session 27

For the first time in weeks, the nightmares left them in peace. The party awoke feeling truly rested – except for Brabara, who returned to the sanctuary in the morning still wearing her adventuring gear, looking like she hadn’t slept at all.

“Did you have the dreams?” Seknafret asked as Brabara entered their shared room and rummaged in her closet.

“No,” Brabara said. She gave up and collapsed onto her mattress, arms spread wide. “I spent last night getting reacquainted with Tiny. Things were… energetic.”

Seknafret raised her hands. “No need for details. Get some sleep. The others are at breakfast. We’ll follow up with Mordenkainen after we’ve eaten.”

“I could eat,” Brabara said, propping herself up on her elbows.

“I know,” Seknafret chuckled. “But you should rest. I’ll fill you in if we learn anything.”

“Fine,” Brabara flopped back down. “Save me some muffins.”

---

After breakfast, Ebyn, Seknafret, and Xalen made their way to Mordenkainen’s study and knocked. The bald archmage opened the door a few moments later and ushered them all inside.

“Have you located the next part?” Ebyn asked, eager to continue the quest.

The wizard shook his head. “Not yet, no. This next piece is proving difficult to pin down. It could be a few days before I have it figured out.”

“I can help, if you like.” Ebyn offered.

“I know,” Mordenkainen said, “but I am afraid this is not the kind of thing that benefits from ‘an extra pair of hands.’ Use this time to rest and recover. You said your last outing was challenging so decompress, regain your strength. It will only get harder from here.”

“But…” Ebyn began, only to be cut off by Seknafret’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

“We gain nothing from bickering, Ebyn,” she said evenly. “Let Mordenkainen do his important work.”

“But…” Ebyn tried again.

“Look,” Xalen interjected, “just because you don’t agree with something doesn’t make it wrong. We’ve all faced horrors since this began, and a few days without worry sounds amazing.”

“Listen to your companions,” Mordenkainen said firmly. “They have your best interests at heart.” He gestured toward the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am rather busy.”

Guided out of the study, Ebyn’s frustration boiled over. How dare they dismiss his input? How dare they treat him like a child? How dare they ignore him?

His fists clenched as angry words surged to the surface – until suddenly, clarity struck. He knew what was needed.

Drawing deep breaths, Ebyn forced his hands to relax. Solitude was what he required.

Seknafret and Xalen watched as his expression shifted from white-hot rage to calm satisfaction in mere moments.

“Are you alright?” Seknafret asked.

“I’ll be in the library if anyone wants me,” Ebyn said, then turned on his heel and walked away.

---

“So, we have a few days to ourselves?” Brabara said as she joined Seknafret and Xalen in the lounge room.

“Seems like it,” Xalen said. “What are you going to do with it?”

Brabara grinned. “I know exactly how I’m going to spend my time. My guess is Ebyn will be hitting the books, so what are you two going to do?”

“Research,” Seknafret said. “Alustriel has offered to help me with the problem of the veil.”

Xalen raised an eyebrow. “She knows about the veil?”

Seknafret shook her head. “Not directly, no, but Alustriel was involved in the creation of the Moonbridge in Silverymoon. That is a permanent magical structure, so she will have some keen insight into how my people might bolster the veil’s fading wards.”

“Sounds riveting,” Brabara lied. “What about you, Xalen?”

“Research,” Xalen said. “Going to see if I can get a lead on where my twin sister might have been sent.”

Brabara stared for a moment, then blinked. “You’re both going to spend your time here with your heads buried in books? Has Ebyn infected you with a study bug somehow?”

Xalen shrugged. “Not much else to do while we wait for Mordenkainen to tell us where we need to go next.”

“We are in the most magnificent city in the multiverse,” Brabara said. "There’s stuff out there that exists nowhere else and things you can see and do here that would be considered impossible back in Neverwinter.”

Seknafret raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to spend your days with Tiny, eh?”

Xalen chuckled. “Yeah, seems like you can do that back in Neverwinter.”

Brabara shook her head. “We’re not going to stay in his room exploring each other’s bodies,” she explained. “We’re going out on the town to experience everything this incredible city has to offer.”

“Uh huh,” Xalen said, and he rolled his eyes.

Brabara blushed. “Fine, and then we’re going to go back to his room and explore each other’s bodies.”

---

Ebyn raised his head, breath spilling from his lips in a long, controlled exhale. The quill trembled faintly between his fingers, its tip still glistening with ink. Inscribing spells had always been a quiet joy for him – a dance of precision and patience – but this higher magic demanded more. Every stroke felt like balancing on the edge of a blade, concentration stretched taut until his temples throbbed.

Unbidden, the memory surged: the nightmare they had all shared. Vecna, towering in shadow, his skeletal hand carving runes of impossible complexity into stone. Not ink. Not parchment. Stone. And not just any spell, this was of a power no other had ever mastered. The sound of it echoed in Ebyn’s mind, each rune hammered into reality with sheer will. He remembered the way the air had burned, the way the world itself seemed to recoil.

Ebyn’s gaze dropped to the fresh inscription before him – a powerful spell, painstakingly inscribed into his book. Yet, compared to Vecna’s feat, it felt small… fragile. The gulf between them yawned wide, a chasm of power and inevitability.

“How can the others be so blind?” he whispered, carefully sealing away his ink. “Something about all this is wrong.” His voice hardened as he snapped the spellbook shut, the sound sharp in the quiet chamber. “I will have answers.”

Back in the shared room, Ebyn gathered his pack. Xalen was there, once again checking the fletching of his arrows. The young thief looked up as Ebyn slung his worn backpack over his shoulder.

“Where are you off to?” Xalen asked.

Ebyn forced a smile. “We’ve got some time. I’m going to explore Sigil for a bit.”

“Want some company?”

“No,” Ebyn replied, shaking his head. “I’d be poor company. I just need to clear my thoughts. I may not be back until late tonight. Let the others know so they don’t worry.”

Xalen nodded. “No problem. Have fun.”

“Thanks,” Ebyn said, hurrying out the door.

He left Alustriel’s Sanctum and stepped into the strange, cosmopolitan sprawl of Sigil – his first time alone in the City of Doors since being summoned here by the wish. The streets teemed with life: creatures walking, riding, slithering, or soaring between crowded towers. Ebyn had never seen so many people in one place, and this was only a fraction of the city’s vast population.

Looking up, he took in the dizzying sight of Sigil’s circular expanse looping around the immense stone spire at its centre, its snow-capped peak piercing the sky. The torus-like city floated around the spire, and the perspective churned his stomach until he closed his eyes, reaffirming which way was up and which was down.

He wandered for half an hour, carefully noting each turn to ensure he could find his way back. At last, he found what he sought: a modest building offering rooms for rent. He paid for one, slipped inside, and prepared for solitude. Privacy was essential for what needed to be done.

---

Twelve hours later, the air in his rented chamber shimmered with the residue of spent magic. Frost clung to the stone walls, glittering in the dim light of his ritual tools. Before him stood the simulacrum: an almost-perfect reflection, faintly translucent, unnervingly still.

Its eyes fluttered open, consciousness sparking within their mirrored gaze. Ebyn hurried forward, snatching a folded robe from a bench and draping it over the duplicate’s shoulders. “There,” he murmured, smoothing the fabric with nervous hands. “No need to begin existence undressed.”

The simulacrum blinked, then tilted its head with a faint smile. “I think I’m quite brilliant, don’t you?” It flexed its fingers and toes experimentally.

Ebyn chuckled, relief breaking through his tension. “A promising start, I’ll admit.”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you,” it said, gesturing to the etched arcane circle. “Though I’ll confess… I wasn’t entirely sure you’d succeed.”

“Neither was I,” Ebyn admitted, sinking onto a frost-covered bench. “But here we are. Two of us. Finally, someone who understands.”

The magical duplicate folded its arms, pacing with calculated grace. “So, what’s the plan? Surely this wasn’t just for conversation.”

Ebyn leaned forward, fingers drumming together. “Vecna’s plans are accelerating. I feel the pressure mounting. We’ve assembled pieces of the Rod of Seven Parts, but…” His brow furrowed.

“But what?” the simulacrum prompted.

“I don’t understand how the rod can stop him,” Ebyn said, frustration rising. “The fragments we’ve recovered – Commune, Regeneration, Reverse Gravity, Arcane Portal – powerful, yes. But not decisive. None of them seem capable of turning the tide against Vecna.”

The simulacrum nodded thoughtfully. “And yet the archmages insist the rod, complete, can undo even the greatest evil.”

“Legends,” Ebyn muttered, rolling his eyes. “Mordenkainen’s assurances, Alustriel’s tomes… numerous, yet maddeningly vague. Nothing concrete. Nothing actionable. It’s like chasing shadows. Why are they so certain this rod is the solution?” He rose, pacing, robes swishing. “We need answers. And we won’t find them here.”

“You’re suggesting a different path?”

“Yes,” Ebyn said, turning to his duplicate. “Sigil. The City of Doors. If truth exists anywhere, it’s here. Its planar connections, archives, and sheer breadth of knowledge – it’s our best chance.”

The simulacrum frowned. “Sigil isn’t discreet. Vecna may have eyes here.”

“Exactly,” Ebyn whispered. “That’s why it must be you. Work quietly. Search temples, markets, factions – anywhere knowledge hides. Use rituals if you must but avoid casting. You cannot rest, so you cannot relearn spells.”

“I know my limitations,” the simulacrum said after a pause. “So, into Sigil. Alone. Ambitious. Subtle. Fortunate, you created me.”

“Indeed,” Ebyn said with a smile. “With the possible exception of Seknafret, you’re the only one I truly trust.”

The Simulacrum’s gaze sharpened. “Now you can be in two places at once.”

“Precisely. That’s why you exist. To uncover the truth before it’s too late.”

The Simulacrum placed a cool hand on Ebyn’s shoulder. “I won’t fail. If Sigil holds the answers, I’ll find them.”

Ebyn exhaled, hope and anxiety twisting together. “Thank you. For once, I feel we might have a chance.”

The simulacrum smirked. “Of course we do. After all, we’re brilliant.”

Ebyn chuckled, the sound echoing softly in the frosty chamber. For the first time in weeks, hope flickered – fragile, but real. Together, they would find the answers the multiverse needed. And when Vecna moved, they would be ready.

“I’ve set aside clothes and coin for you,” Ebyn said, nodding toward the closet and the pouch on the table. “I’ll check in when I can, but don’t come to the Sanctum unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

“I understand,” the Simulacrum replied. “You can count on me.”

“I know.”

Both Ebyns smiled.

---

The next morning, the group awoke refreshed after another dreamless night. Ebyn had returned to the Sanctum sometime after midnight, but Brabara’s bed remained empty – she had clearly chosen to stay with Tiny.

“I must ask a favour of you, Seknafret,” Ebyn said. “I plan to cast some divinations, and I need you to stand vigil in case the magic breaks my mind.”

“Of course,” Seknafret replied. “When would you like to begin?”

“After breakfast,” Ebyn answered with a smile. “I find I have quite the appetite this morning.”

Xalen chuckled. “Your walk around Sigil seems to have done you good. You look far more relaxed today.”

“Indeed. It’s a fascinating city,” Ebyn said. “Let’s eat.”

After breakfast, Seknafret accompanied Ebyn back to their room, where the wizard prepared to cast his potent and perilous divination. He positioned himself at the centre of the chamber, the words of the incantation flowing from his lips as the weave enfolded him, turning syllables into power.

The air in the chamber grew heavy, each word Ebyn spoke vibrating against the stone walls as if the weave itself pressed inward. His breath came shallow, but his voice did not falter.

“Does Tasha have a prepared clone?” Ebyn asked once the spell was ready.

“No,” came the sonorous reply.

“Do Mordenkainen or Alustriel harbour ill will toward Tasha?”

“No.”

“Did Mordenkainen or Alustriel spare no expense in seeking third-party aid to heal her?”

This time, the answer was not a word but a shiver through the weave – a refusal to resolve into clarity. Ebyn felt the edges of his mind scrape against something immense, and for a heartbeat he feared it might swallow him whole.

He sagged to the floor, the spell unravelling with a hiss. Seknafret moved instantly, her hands hovering over him, ready to mend what might be broken. But his eyes were steady, his breath even, as though the collapse had been ritual rather than ruin.

“Well, that told me nothing,” Ebyn muttered, rubbing the ache from his temples.

“Not nothing,” Seknafret replied gently. “We know they bear no malice toward her. That is no small comfort.”

He exhaled. “Perhaps.”

“But the silence to your last question…” she tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “That troubles me.”

Ebyn’s gaze darkened. “It means the powers themselves don’t know. They guard their ignorance jealously. That is why I asked you to stand watch.”

Seknafret held his stare, unflinching. “And yet, I see doubt still gnawing at you. You suspect our hosts, whether the powers speak or not.”

“I can’t shake the feeling something isn’t right,” Ebyn admitted. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s more happening here than we realise.”

Seknafret sighed. “I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, Ebyn. Alustriel has been nothing but helpful these past days, and though Mordenkainen can be prickly, he hasn’t steered us wrong about the rod pieces. Still, I understand. Something feels off to me as well.”

She straightened. “But as Brabara always said in the watch: facts, not feelings, get results. Until we have something tangible, we stay vigilant.”

Ebyn exhaled slowly. “I know. You’re right, Seknafret.”

---

Later that night while Ebyn was studying alone in the library of the sanctum, Alustriel approached him.

“May we talk?” she said, sitting at the table beside him.

“Of course,” Ebyn replied, closing the book he was reading and pushing it aside. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to discuss the letter you gave us upon your return,” Alustriel smiled. “Mordenkainen and I have talked it over and we remain resolved that the rod pieces stay with us while you and the others are questing. It’s just too much of a risk if you four were to suffer some calamity.”

Ebyn’s expression darkened, but Alustriel raised a hand before he could say anything.

“Please, let me finish,” she continued. “I also agree that the utility the individual rod pieces offer could be crucial to the success of each mission. So, we propose that instead of you taking the rod pieces with you we provide you with spell scrolls that duplicate the function of the pieces we have so far.”

Ebyn turned her words over in his mind and he could find no fault in her logic. “That seems like a reasonable compromise.”

Alustriel nodded. “We shall have five scrolls of each of the spells you cannot already cast yourself prepared and you can take these. It also has the advantage of allowing you to cast the same spell more than once a day should the need arise.”

“Thank you,” Ebyn said. “I am glad you took my request seriously. It is nice to feel heard.”

“Of course,” she said sweetly. “There is one more thing that I would like to discuss.”

“By all means,” Ebyn said, curious.

“I understand you have been asking questions regarding the death of Tasha, questions suggesting that Mordenkainen and I might have played a role in what happened to her.”

Ebyn’s eyes widened, a sudden knot formed in the pit of his stomach. “How could you know that? Have you been spying on us?”

Alustriel shook her head. “Nothing like that, I assure you. But occasionally when wizards beseech Mystra for information about me, my mother allows me to know about it.”

Ebyn swallowed. “Mystra is your mother?” He managed, unable to keep the quiver from his voice.

“She is, and while I would never call us close, she does look out for me when needed.”

“So? What? Are you giving me a warning?” Ebyn said, feeling anger rise within him.

“A warning?” Alustriel said, aghast. “Oh, heavens no. Of course not. I am here only to give you more information about why we cannot bring Tasha back. To explain to you why her loss is – sadly – irrevocable.”

Ebyn took a few deep breaths, his mind reeling from the shock of it all. Mystra is Alustriel’s mother, she knew he was asking questions about her, and she is here to give him answers. Actual answers. “Please, continue,” he said finally.

Alustriel’s expression softened, though her voice carried a tremor as she began. “You see, the Tasha you knew – the one who stood beside you – was but a shadow of her true self. The real Tasha, Zyblina, rules Prismeer, one of the Domains of Delight. These realms mirror the Domains of Dread, but where the latter are prisons of despair, the former are sanctuaries of joy and wonder. Yet the rulers of both are shackled to their realms. Zyblina cannot leave hers, no more than Strahd can abandon Barovia.”

Her gaze drifted, and for a moment Ebyn thought he saw sorrow flicker across her features.
“At great cost to her own strength, Zyblina walked the paths of time to send a version of herself from her past in response to my plea. It was not a feat motivated by friendship alone. Vecna…” Alustriel’s voice faltered, and she pressed her lips together before continuing. “Vecna erased her son, Iuz, from existence itself. Not merely slain – unmade. You can imagine the grief, the fury, the desperation that drove her to act.”

She paused, eyes glistening, and Ebyn felt the weight of her words settle like stone. “Because of that origin, the Tasha you met cannot be restored. She was never truly here, not in the way you or I are. Zyblina cannot repeat what she did, and her sacrifice was final.”

Ebyn hesitated, then pressed: “You say she cannot leave her domain, yet Kas was absent from his. How is that possible?”

Alustriel’s composure wavered. She shook her head slowly, her voice heavy with frustration. “I do not know. Truly, I do not. The documents you recovered spoke of Pandesmos, perhaps a battlefield he sought – but how he escaped his prison, I cannot say. That ignorance gnaws at me, Ebyn. I will search for answers, but I cannot pretend to hold them now.”

Her hand tightened briefly on the edge of the table, knuckles pale. Then she released it, exhaling. “In my experience, nothing happens without cause. Threads connect even the most distant events. Perhaps Kas’ absence will prove irrelevant, or perhaps it will be the fulcrum upon which all else turns. I cannot yet see which. But I promise you this: I will not ignore the question.”

Ebyn nodded. “Thank you, Alustriel. Thank you for coming to talk to me like this and thank you for listening. I had become accustomed to having my input disregarded.”

Alustriel put a gentle hand on Ebyn’s shoulder. “Mordenkainen can be a stubborn man, even to those he considers friends. It’s just the way he is.”

“I’m not just referring to Mordenkainen,” Ebyn added. “But thank you.”

Alustriel stood. “We are all in this together, Ebyn. I hope you know that.”

---

Brabara awoke before the sky began to lighten, easing her considerable bulk out of bed with practiced care. Beside her, Tiny snored loudly, his muscular frame sprawled across the wide bed in careless abandon.

The wooden frame groaned as she rose, and she padded softly across the floor, closing the door behind her with deliberate gentleness. She dressed quickly in plain trousers and a shirt, leaving her armour behind. Sliding into her boots with a small hop, she slipped out of the apartment, the faint click of the lock sounding final.

She had business in the city today – business she preferred to keep free of Tiny’s well-meaning but awkward questions.

Outside, the sight of the snow-covered spire jutting sideways from the centre of the sky was still disconcerting, even after several days. Brabara kept her gaze below the roofline, focusing on the waking streets.

An urchin darted down an alley, a tradesman in pursuit, until two hulking bruisers blocked his path. One slapped a wicked-looking club against his palm, and the tradesman wisely turned away. To her left, a beggar sat against a wall, his leg apparently severed at the knee. Yet Brabara’s trained eye caught the truth: the worn strapping had slipped, revealing dirty toes poking through.

For all its strangeness, the city felt familiar. A city was a city, no matter where it existed – the same opportunities, the same dangers, the same predators.

As she passed, Brabara pressed a coin into the tradesman’s hand. “Here you go, friend.”

He spun toward her, anger flashing, but the sight of gold softened his face. “May the gods bless you this day,” he said, voice thick with relief.

“May they indeed,” she muttered, pressing a palm to her stomach as she strode away.

She rounded a corner and found her destination: a temple of Shiallia, the Dancer in the Glades, goddess of fertility.

Brabara climbed the short stairway, ducking beneath a low branch between two trees that framed the entrance. Inside, the temple opened into a space shaped like a forest glade. Stone columns carved as trees lined the walls, and the floor was covered in a lush carpet of green that mimicked grass.

A lone woman in a flowing green dress moved among raised garden beds, tending blossoms with gentle hands. She looked up as Brabara entered, her smile warm and welcoming.

“The blessings of Shiallia be upon you,” she said. “I am Trystal. How may I help you this day?”

Brabara approached, noting the golden acorn that hung from a chain at the woman’s neck.
“I come seeking wisdom,” she said.

Trystal’s smile deepened. “Wisdom is what we have in abundance.”

Brabara drew a steadying breath. “Excellent. I’d like to know if I’m pregnant.”

---

“The next rod piece is on Krynn,” Mordenkainen announced. “I still haven’t narrowed down the exact location. For some reason this one is proving tricky, but while I do that, you might want to find out more about this world.”

Ebyn, always more than glad for a subject to research, nodded. “I will handle that.”

“Good,” Seknafret said. “Alustriel and I have made some interesting observations regarding the nature of permanent magical effects, and I’d like to see how far we get before we leave again.”

“No problem,” Ebyn said, then turned back to Mordenkainen. “But before I dive in, is there anything you can tell me about Krynn?”

Mordenkainen shrugged. “It’s an odd sphere. The gods abandoned the place a few centuries ago making divine magic impossible,” he said, then tugged at his goatee for a moment. “Perhaps that is why my attempts to narrow down the location of the rod piece are failing.”

The archmage turned and started walking away, the discussion entirely forgotten.

Xalen watched Mordenkainen as he entered the stairwell. “He’s an odd one.”

Ebyn’s eyes narrowed. “Hmmm. What about you, Xalen? I hear you’ve been hitting the books yourself lately.”

“What?” Xalen said. “Me? Help you do research?” The young thief shook his head. “I think I’ll leave that to the expert. Don’t fancy getting chewed out for handing you a scroll when you asked for a parchment.”

Ebyn chuckled. “Fair enough, but don’t complain when I start explaining pertinent and relevant aspects of the place to you all. If you won’t take part in gaining the knowledge, then you must listen to me.”

“Fine, sure, whatever.” Xalen said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Xalen slipped out of the library and into the morning light, leaving Alustriel’s Sanctum behind. The city’s bustle faded as he crossed into a nearby park, where a small, wooded glade lay hidden among the tall stone buildings. It was here, in this pocket of solitude, that he had found a place to practice – a sanctuary where steel could sing without witness.

He still couldn’t fathom why Ebyn and Seknafret feared the blade. To him, it held no curse, no omen of doom. Until they came to terms with its presence, he would keep his practice secret. If the sword carried some terrible fate, it had shown no sign of it. On the contrary, it had begun to teach him.

Xalen had always favored the bow, his hands more accustomed to the pull of a string than the weight of a hilt. But since reclaiming the weapon from Nikola Kringle, he had resolved to master its shifting forms. Each morning, he returned to this glade, raising the blade as it reshaped itself – dagger, longsword, rapier, scimitar – and letting its sentience guide his movements.

The weapon’s voice was not sound but thought, threading into his mind with a cold clarity. “Too wide. Narrow your stance. Let the weight carry you.”
He obeyed, adjusting, and the blade hummed with approval. “Better. Again. Faster. Don’t think – feel.”

A few days of practice had barely scratched the surface, yet progress was undeniable. His strikes grew cleaner, his footwork steadier. The sword was patient, precise, and unyielding – a teacher unlike any mortal master. And though Xalen knew he had far to go, he felt the bond between them deepening, blade and bearer moving closer to a single purpose.

Still, when the weapon whispered, “You were meant for me,” Xalen’s breath caught, and for a heartbeat he wondered whether he was mastering the sword – or if the sword was mastering him.

---

Seknafret stared at the tiny flame burning at the tip of a metal skewer fixed to a clamp on the desk in Alustriel’s sanctum. A continual flame – simple enough for even modestly trained casters to conjure yet imbued with permanence.

“Now focus on the weave,” Alustriel instructed. “Feel the connection between you and the flame you created.”

Seknafret closed her eyes, applying the techniques Alustriel had taught her over the past few days. To learn from a spellcaster as mighty as Alustriel of Silverymoon, the daughter of Mystra herself, was a gift beyond measure. “I feel it,” she said, her awareness brushing against the tenuous thread of magic.

“Good. Now, remember what I showed you. Sever that link. Gently, mind – too sharp a cut, and the spell will unravel along with your bond to it.”

Seknafret drew a deep breath. In her mind’s eye, the connection appeared as a silver strand, no thicker than a hair, glowing faintly in the weave. She grasped it with both hands and eased them apart. A subtle resistance pressed back before the strand broke, dissolving into dust that vanished into nothing.

The flame continued to burn, steady and bright, but the bond was gone. “It worked,” she said, excitement breaking through her composure.

“You are a gifted student,” Alustriel replied warmly.

“I have a fine teacher,” Seknafret countered.

Alustriel laughed. “This is the first step in understanding permanence in magic. Once a spell is cast and stabilized, it is vital to break the ties to its casters. Otherwise, any of them could end it.”

“But not all spells endure,” Seknafret pointed out.

“True. Some magics draw constantly from the weave, consuming themselves until they fade. But this flame will burn forever – unless someone dispels it.”

“What makes this flame different?” Seknafret asked.

“Consider a fireball,” Alustriel said. “A conflagration that produces light, heat, and sound – every aspect of natural fire replicated at once. That intensity consumes itself in an instant. It creates a reality fuelled by the weave, but one that cannot last. This flame, however, is pared down. It gives only light. No heat, no sound. One aspect, not the whole.”

Seknafret frowned. “I think I see.”

“Permanence requires balance,” Alustriel explained. “Something must be absent to allow something else to endure. Here, permanence comes at the cost of heat and sound.”

Seknafret nodded slowly. “Then the barrier my order protects must not be truly permanent. It needs bolstering.”

Alustriel shook her head. “Not quite. Left alone, the barrier would endure indefinitely. But it is under constant assault. The rituals your order performs restore the energy lost to those who batter against it.”

“Like this flame,” Seknafret said, “which can still be dispelled by another caster.”

“Exactly. Paradoxically, permanence is never absolute.”

Seknafret’s voice grew heavy. “Our rituals have grown weaker. If I cannot find a solution, the barrier will fail within a century.”

Alustriel’s expression softened. “Then a new barrier must be forged. Whatever fuels the old one is waning. It must be replaced.”

Seknafret sighed. “The spell that created it was lost millennia ago.”

“But you know the rituals used to strengthen it, do you not?”

“Of course.”

“Then we have a path forward. If we study those rituals, we may reconstruct the original spell — or at least a close facsimile. With your new understanding of permanence, I am certain we can craft a replacement.”

Seknafret’s face lit with hope. This was more than she had dared dream. After all she had endured, and all that still lay ahead, there was now a chance she could return to her people with a solution.

But Alustriel’s expression grew solemn. “Do not mistake possibility for certainty, Seknafret. Reconstructing magic lost to millennia is no simple task. The weave remembers, but it does not always forgive. What we attempt may carry dangers – backlash, corruption, even failure that could weaken the barrier further.”

Seknafret’s smile faltered, though determination remained in her eyes. “I understand. But if the alternative is watching the barrier collapse, then risk is the only path left.”

Alustriel inclined her head, her silver hair catching the light of the continual flame. “Then we shall walk that path together. Hope is a powerful thing, but it must be tempered with wisdom. Let us proceed carefully, for the fate of your people depends on it.”

---

“From what I have been able to discover,” Ebyn began, “Krynn is a world ravaged by war, where dragons hold sway. One side fields a disciplined army, divided into battalions aligned with the chromatic dragons – red, blue, black, green, white. These forces march under the banner of the Dragon Queen, Takhisis, a local name for Tiamat.”

Brabara leaned toward Xalen and whispered, “I think he’s enjoying this.”

The group lounged in Alustriel’s sanctum, listening as Ebyn read from his neatly written notes.

“Opposing them,” he continued, “is a patchwork of resistance forces. They’ve managed only to slow the Queen’s advance. In theory, the metallic dragons – bronze, copper, silver, gold – lend their aid, but disunity hampers their efforts.”

Xalen chuckled. “I half expect him to assign us homework.”

“Will you two shut up and pay attention,” Seknafret hissed. “We all decided we had better things to do than help him research, so the least we can do is listen.”

Brabara stuck out her tongue. “Boo. You’re no fun.”

Ebyn pressed on, ignoring – or deliberately overlooking – their whispers. “Divine magic is rare on Krynn. It vanished a millennium ago after a cataclysm that drove the gods away. But with the rise of the Dragon Queen, divine power has begun to return. The old gods stir, seeking to counter her influence. Any questions so far?”

The others shook their heads.

“Arcane magic is tightly regulated,” Ebyn said. “Three orders exist, marked by robe colour: white for good, red for neutrality, black for evil. Yet they cooperate, so the distinctions blur. Any caster outside these orders is branded a renegade to be hunted and killed if caught.” He glanced meaningfully at Seknafret and Xalen. “We’ll need to be cautious with our magic.”

“What about rune magic?” Brabara asked.

Ebyn shook his head. “No mention of it. But any extraordinary ability might be mistaken for outlawed sorcery. A good point, Brabara, you should be careful too.”

Brabara nudged Xalen. “Hear that? I made a good point.”

Xalen chuckled while Seknafret rolled her eyes.

“Chaos breeds opportunists,” Ebyn went on. “Warlords and would-be rulers carve out their own factions, each grasping for power. In short, Krynn is lawless.”

“So,” Xalen said once Ebyn fell silent, “we must avoid dragon armies, wizard orders, and warlords – all while keeping our spell use discreet as we search for the next rod piece.”

“Exactly,” Ebyn replied.

“And where are we going?” Brabara asked.

The door opened, and Mordenkainen strode in. “To a place known as the Peylon Tree,” he said, his voice carrying across the room. “It lies in the Dargaard Mountains. The next rod piece should be there. But…” He paused, frowning. “My readings are inexact.”

“Inexact?” Ebyn pressed.

Mordenkainen sighed. “Despite my best efforts, I cannot be certain. I’ve wasted too much time chasing clarity. The Peylon Tree must suffice.”

Brabara shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

“Excellent,” Mordenkainen said briskly, cutting off further debate. “Gather your gear and meet me at the portal. Krynn awaits.”