Session 29

Argentia led the group along a wide mountain road that wound steadily upward. Despite its generous width, the path was in such disrepair that no wagon or cart could hope to traverse it.

“Where are you taking us?” Ebyn asked as they climbed.

“Three Moons Vault,” Argentia said. “It was built before the Cataclysm. A temple dedicated to the lunar deities. Millennia ago, a fragment of the red moon, Lunitari, shattered and rained down on the Dargaard Mountains. The impacts carved craters across the region. Ancient moon‑venerating druids chose one of those craters as the site for a shrine to Krynn’s moons. They raised three towers: a spacious white tower for Solinari, an intricate red tower for Lunitari, and a solemn black tower for Nuitari.

“But like most things from that age, the place was ravaged by the Cataclysm and its purpose forgotten. Recently, Lord Soth’s forces occupied the site, repaired what they could, built walls, and carved out a subterranean vault for prisoners and treasure. The wizard Teremini oversees its security, and it’s there she’s enacting this ritual moon magic.”

“Moon magic?” Ebyn echoed. “Isn’t all magic on Krynn moon magic?”

Argentia shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. But this is something different – something that affects my kind. It isn’t taught by the Conclave.”

“How so?” Seknafret asked.

“The rise of the Dragon Queen has brought dragons back to Krynn,” Argentia said. “But not all dragons serve Takhisis. Some oppose her – like the metallic dragons allied with Paladine. And then there are the lunar dragons, who follow their own designs. One of them, Orinix, taught Teremini this ritual.”

“To what end?” Seknafret pressed.

“I don’t know. But the ritual’s effect on my people will be disastrous. Whatever Orinix hopes to gain by teaching that elf bitch this spell doesn’t matter to me. I just want Valendar and the others out.”

“I like someone who stays focused on a goal,” Ebyn said. “Refreshing.”

Brabara rolled her eyes. “People can have more than one goal, Ebyn.”

“This road,” Xalen said, glancing ahead. “We’re not walking straight up to the front gates, are we? That didn’t go well for your people yesterday.”

Argentia’s expression darkened. “No. But one good thing came from that fiasco – we found another way in. A side entrance of sorts.”

Xalen winced. “Sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

“It’s fine,” Argentia said with a small smile. “You’ll leave the road soon and take a narrow track to an entry at the base of a cliff. You should be able to enter the vault unseen.”

“Hold up,” Brabara said. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

Argentia looked down. “I can’t. The vault is warded with a red lunar light that forces my kind into the animal state. That’s what they used on us yesterday. If I go with you, I’ll be a danger to you and the mission.”

“And there’s no way to stop it?” Xalen asked.

“Only temporarily.” Argentia rummaged in her belt pouch and produced a small hessian bag. “Take this.” She handed it to Brabara. “It’s a type of wolfsbane infused with Peylon fruit. It suppresses our transformation, forcing us back into humanoid form for a short time. If you find Valendar or the others, this will help them think clearly.”

Brabara opened the bag and lifted one of the small buds. “How do we use it?”

“They must ingest it,” Argentia said.

Brabara’s eyes widened. “You want me to put this in Valendar’s mouth? With all those sharp teeth?”

“I know it’s dangerous,” Argentia said softly. “But there’s no other way.”

Brabara returned the bud to the bag and tossed it to Xalen. “You handle that part. I’ll keep him still.”

Xalen caught it neatly and tucked it into his belt. “Alright.”

They followed the ruined road for another two switchbacks, the path narrowing until loose stones skittered down the slope with every step. Ahead, Argentia lifted a hand, calling the group to a halt.

“This is as far as I can go,” Argentia said. “The path – a goat track, really – is just ahead. Follow it to the end. There’s a stone door carved into the cliff. We believe it leads into the vault’s lower level.”

“Surely it will be guarded,” Ebyn said.

“Almost certainly,” Argentia agreed. “Two strange metallic statues flank the door. They may be part of the defence. But it’s still easier than fighting dozens of trained guards, draconians, and undead.”

“We could fly in,” Seknafret suggested.

“Some draconians can fly – and they have dragons,” Argentia reminded her. “Like the one you defeated at the fen. We saw at least two yesterday.”

“Let’s try the side entrance first,” Brabara said. “Flying makes me ill.”

“If you find Valendar,” Argentia said, “tell him I’ll be waiting with the survivors by the waterfall. It should be far enough to avoid the ritual’s range – if Teremini completes it.”

“We won’t allow that,” Ebyn said, clenching his fist. “There is more at stake than your people alone. We must prevail.”

Argentia met his gaze, saw the resolve there, and nodded. “Then I wish you all the very best of luck.”

---

They found the goat track exactly where Argentia promised, though it was little more than a seam in the rock. Moss and windblown grit hid its first few steps so completely that, without her guidance, they would have walked right past. The trail climbed in tight, punishing switchbacks, the air thinning as the cliffs pressed closer around them.

At last, it levelled out before a natural alcove where three sheer faces met. Two austere pillars rose from the stone, flanking a double door carved directly into the cliff. Beside each pillar stood a silver statue – tall, humanoid, its crescent-moon head catching what little light reached it.

“I guess this is it,” Brabara said as she stepped onto the ledge. “Xalen, care to take a closer look?”

“Wait,” Ebyn said. “Let me link us first.”

The group paused while Ebyn completed the telepathic ritual.

Once their minds were joined, Xalen crept forward, hugging the left-hand cliff. His eyes swept the ledge, every step measured, ready to spring away at the slightest hint of danger.

When he reached about thirty feet from the door, one of the statues shifted. Its crescent head rotated toward him, and a spark arced between its two points.

Xalen immediately backed away.

The statue tracked him, but the spark died. When he retreated to sixty feet, it returned to its original forward-facing position.

“Well, that answers that,” Xalen said as he rejoined the others.

“Indeed,” Ebyn replied. “We should destroy them from range.”

“I can do it,” Seknafret said. “Get clear in case something unexpected happens. I’ll float up and blast them.”

Xalen and Ebyn activated their enchanted boots and rose into the air while Brabara retreated down the path, crouching behind a large boulder. Seknafret followed her partway, then levitated upward until she had a clear line of sight. She raised her hand and unleashed volley after volley of crackling eldritch energy.

The blasts struck true, tearing silvery ash from the statues’ bodies. In response, both constructs stepped back until they pressed against the pillars. A cone of radiant light flared to life behind them, bathing their forms.

As the light touched them, the damage Seknafret had inflicted knit itself closed, leaving the statues pristine once more.

“Damn it,” Ebyn said through the link. “We’ll need a different approach.”

Seknafret lowered herself back to the ground. The radiant light continued to shine for nearly a minute before fading, and the statues returned to their original positions.

“I could try reversing gravity around the door,” Ebyn suggested, thinking of the scrolls Alustriel had provided. “It should lift the statues out of the way.”

“And us with them,” Brabara pointed out. “How do we reach the door then?”

“I could give you flying,” Seknafret offered.

“No flying,” Brabara said instantly. “I had enough of that in the Astral Plane, and yesterday’s dragon reminded me why I hate it.”

“Then what do you propose?” Ebyn asked dryly.

Brabara considered. “I walk up, grab them, and throw them off the mountain.”

Ebyn stared. “You’re joking.”

“No. Why? Not everything needs a twelve-step plan.”

Xalen laughed. “It’s not subtle, but I like it.”

Seknafret shrugged. “Worth a try.”

Brabara didn’t wait for further debate. She strode toward the rightmost statue, avoiding the area where the radiant light had shone. As soon as she crossed the thirty‑foot mark, both statues’ crescent heads turned toward her, and the nearest one began to spark.

Brabara invoked her magic, growing to giant size, then sprinted the remaining distance. She wrapped her massive arms around the statue and heaved.

It didn’t budge.

“Oh shit!” she yelled as the arc of electricity brightened and a bolt of lightning blasted into her, searing through her flesh.

The second statue stepped back to the door. The cone of radiant light flared again, bathing Brabara in its burning glow.

“Oh shit!” she screamed as the radiant energy tore into her.

“That went about as well as expected,” Ebyn said wryly. With a sigh, he flicked his fingers and sent three motes of flame streaking toward the statue by the door. They scorched its surface, but the radiant light repaired the damage instantly.

“Hit them with everything,” Ebyn said. “Maybe the light has a limit.”

What followed was not a glorious battle. The four of them simply focused their combined firepower on one statue at a time. Eventually, the radiant light failed to keep up with the damage, and the first construct collapsed into a drifting cloud of silvery dust.

The second soon followed. Xalen, Seknafret, and Ebyn kept their distance, but Brabara had to stand in the radiant light to strike, and by the time the statue fell, she was badly burned.

The light continued to shine, so Brabara shrank back to her normal size and stepped aside, close to the door. Now that she was near, she could see a pair of crescent‑shaped handles carved into the stone.

She hooked one with her glaive and pulled.

The door swung open, and the radiant light winked out.

“It’s open,” she said, triumphant.

The others approached. Seknafret eyed Brabara’s wounds.

“Those look nasty.”

“They feel nasty,” Brabara said.

“Should we rest?” Xalen asked. “Give you time to heal?”

“I have a regeneration scroll,” Ebyn said. “Better to keep moving. If destroying those guardians triggered an alarm, we don’t want to be standing out here.”

He withdrew the scroll and read the incantation, touching Brabara as he did. The parchment crumbled to ash, and her wounds began to close. The worst injuries vanished instantly; the rest slowly knitted themselves together.

“You’ll be fully healed within the hour,” Ebyn said. “Let’s go.”

Xalen led the way through the passage beyond the door. It ran only a few feet into the mountain before opening into an oval‑shaped chamber. At the far end stood a tall statue of an elegant elf in flowing robes, hands folded serenely. Words were etched into the stone at its base.

Along one wall rested a weapon rack holding a black‑bladed dagger, a matching longsword, and a black shield embossed with a single rose. Beside it, on a wooden stand, sat a black breastplate bearing the same motif. A small wooden box lay on the floor at its foot.

Opposite the rack, another tunnel led deeper into the mountain.

Xalen swept the room with practiced caution. “Clear,” he said once he was certain nothing lurked within.

The others stepped inside. Ebyn touched the weave to allow him to sense the presence of magic, his eyes taking on a faint glow as he scanned the chamber.

“The longsword is enchanted,” he reported. “The rest is mundane, high quality, but not magical.”

Xalen approached the statue and read the inscription aloud. “It is not surrender. Live to fight again another day.”

“An escape route,” Ebyn said. “If the complex above was overrun, they could flee here and resupply.”

“What’s in the box?” Brabara asked.

“Let me check it first,” Xalen said, crouching beside it.

He lifted the box with his mage hand, turning it over carefully. No lock. No visible mechanism. No hint of a trap. Still, experience had taught him not to trust appearances. He set it back down, stepped away, and used the spectral hand to lift the lid.

Nothing happened.

He moved closer. Inside lay a single vial of clear blue liquid.

“That’s magical as well,” Ebyn noted. “A potion of some kind.”

“It’s not healing,” Seknafret said. “Those are usually red.”

“Vitality,” Brabara said confidently. “Removes exhaustion. Boosts healing.”

The others stared at her.

“What?” she said, bristling. “I bought one a few years back so I could stand a long watch. And it fits, this room’s meant for regrouping.”

The sword, shield, armour, and potion were stowed in the portable hole, and the group continued down the tunnel.

The passage ran straight for about a hundred strides before turning sharply left and ending at the back of what was clearly a hidden door. From this side, the mechanism was obvious, and they slipped through with ease.

Now, deep within the sub‑level of the Vault of the Three Moons, the air grew thick with the stench of decay.

Xalen edged forward and peered around the next corner.

Movement.

He froze, eyes narrowing. His darkvision cut through the gloom. After several heartbeats, the shape resolved – a ghostly figure patrolling a wider corridor that intersected with theirs. It carried a cruel‑looking longsword and a goat horn in one hand.

It drifted out of sight.

Moments later, another figure passed the opening in the opposite direction. Whether it was the same one or a second, Xalen couldn’t be sure.

He relayed everything through the telepathic bond. “I’m going invisible and stepping into the corridor.”

“Be careful,” Seknafret said.

Xalen vanished and slipped silently into the wider passage. A quick glance left showed one ghostly figure turning a corner. To the right, another drifted into what looked like a large chamber.

Twenty feet ahead, another corridor crossed this one. Xalen moved to it and peered around the corner.

Two more ghostly figures marched their patrol route, each carrying a goat horn identical to the others.

“Looks like a regular patrol,” Xalen murmured. “Those horns will call reinforcements. We need to drop them fast.”

“And all at once,” Ebyn agreed. “Watch their route. See if they converge anywhere.”

Xalen stayed at the corner, invisible and motionless, tracking the pattern of the four ghostly warriors as they drifted through the darkened corridors. Eventually, their paths brought them together – right where he stood. He held his breath as the undead glided past, their spectral forms passing within inches of him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears; certain they must hear it.

Only when they separated again did he allow himself a slow, controlled exhale. He slipped back to the others.

“They cross right here,” he said.

“Good,” Ebyn replied. “I’ll place a dawn spell the next time they converge. Xalen, signal me when they’re close. I’ll step out and set the light.”

“Understood.”

“And make sure you’re well clear,” Ebyn added. “I can’t shape the spell to keep from burning you.”

Xalen moved to a vantage point where he could keep the spectral guards in view. Sure enough, the four ghostly warriors drifted toward the intersection again. He gave the signal.

Ebyn stepped into the passage and released the spell. A column of brilliant radiance erupted in the centre of the crossing. The undead recoiled as the light seared their essence – but none fell.

“They’re not dead,” Xalen reported.

“Damn it!” Ebyn snapped. “Finish them!”

Xalen drew and fired three arrows in rapid succession. The enchanted shafts struck the furthest warrior, and its form unravelled into mist.

Brabara charged around the corner, her glaive flashing. She cleaved through the nearest undead, its weakened form collapsing under the blow.

“I don’t see the other two,” she called.

“Bugger,” Ebyn muttered. “Stay put. I’ll burn them.”

He stepped out again, pointed, and a bead of light streaked down the corridor. It detonated at the intersection in a roaring bloom of fire and radiance.

When the flames faded, Brabara darted forward and peered around the corner, blinking as her eyes adjusted from the sudden glare.

No movement. No shapes. No sound.

“All dead,” she said. “Good work, team.”

“Which way now?” Xalen asked.

“Let’s use my arcane eye to map the place before we blunder into something,” Ebyn suggested.

“Makes sense,” Brabara agreed. “Back down the tunnel we came from. No one here seems to think it’s worth guarding.”

They retreated to the safer stretch near the secret door. Ebyn cast his spell, and the invisible eye shimmered into being beside him. He sent it drifting forward, his own sight slipping into its perspective.

The eye glided through the underground passages. It passed a vast chamber where dozens of undead – skeletons, zombies, and other half‑rotted forms – stood motionless, as if waiting for a signal. Beyond them, a spiral staircase wound upward, but a closed door at the top blocked further progress.

Descending again, the eye found a room with three locked cells. Inside lay more than a dozen humanoids, all unconscious, all bearing fresh wounds.

At the far end of the complex, the eye reached a massive crescent‑shaped hall. Several large double doors lined the outer curve, preventing further exploration. At its centre stood a semi‑circular chamber, and above a raised dais floated a ten‑foot sphere of polished metal, suspended in the air like a silent moon.

“I found the prisoners,” Ebyn said, relaying what he’d seen.

“Any guards?” Brabara asked.

“No.” Ebyn shook his head. “The only other things down here are the undead in that big chamber by the stairs.”

Xalen swallowed. “And what are they doing?”

“Nothing,” Ebyn said. “If I had to guess, they’re waiting for a horn signal. No horn, no problem.”

“I hope you’re right,” Xalen muttered.

“Me too,” Ebyn said with a crooked smile.

“To the prisoners then,” Brabara said. “Let’s free them while we can.”

“Did you see Valendar?” Seknafret asked.

“Hard to tell,” Ebyn replied. “They’re all unconscious. Faces were difficult to make out.”

Confident there was no immediate threat, the group made their way directly to the cells. They arrived without incident. Xalen knelt and pulled out his tools, ready to work on the first lock.

“Wait,” Brabara said suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

She pointed toward a stone door at the back of the prison chamber.

“Did you get a look in there with the eye?”

Ebyn shook his head. “The eye can’t open doors.”

Xalen pressed his ear to the stone door. From within came a guttural, anguished growling, raw, feral, and pained.

“There’s definitely something in there,” he murmured. “And it’s not happy.”

“That could be Valendar,” Seknafret said quietly.

Xalen tested the handle. Locked. A moment later, his tools clicked softly, and the mechanism yielded. He stepped aside, stowing his kit and pulling out the infused wolfsbane Argentia had given them.

Brabara caught the gesture, nodded once, and pulled open the heavy stone door.

The chamber beyond was an oval room suffused with a harsh red glow. A mirror set into a groove in the curved ceiling angled the crimson light so it touched every inch of the space – no shadows, no refuge.

A werewolf in hybrid form paced the room in tortured agitation, half‑man, half‑wolf, its movements jerky and desperate. The moment the door opened, it whirled, eyes blazing with hatred, and loosed a piercing howl before charging.

Brabara was ready. She stepped into its path, locking her arms around the creature’s powerful torso. They staggered and strained, the werewolf snapping wildly at her throat while she fought to force its jaws apart.

After a tense struggle, she managed to wedge one hand beneath its lower jaw and wrench upward. Xalen saw the opening and flicked one of the wolfsbane buds straight into the creature’s mouth.

Brabara slammed its jaws shut with her other hand and held tight.

The effect was immediate.

The werewolf went limp, collapsing against her. Brabara hauled the body out of the chamber and away from the oppressive red light before gently lowering it to the floor.

The transformation began at once. Muscles shifted. Bones realigned. Fur receded. The man writhed, drenched in sweat, what remained of his clothing hanging in tatters as his form settled back into something human.

At last, he blinked up at them, dazed. “What… happened?”

From the descriptions, this was Valendar.

“Stay calm, Valendar,” Seknafret said, her voice soft and steady. “We’re here to help you. Argentia sent us.”

Valendar’s eyes widened. “Argentia? Is she here?” Panic flickered across his face. “She can’t be here. It’s not safe. Not for us.”

“She’s not here,” Seknafret assured him. “She knows the danger. She gave us what we needed to free you and your people.”

“My people…” Valendar looked around, then tried to rise when he saw the unconscious figures in the cells. “Yes, we must help them.”

Seknafret helped him to his feet. “I am Seknafret. This is Brabara, Xalen, and Ebyn. We met Riffel at the Peylon Tree. He brought us to Argentia and told us what happened.”

Valendar rubbed the back of his neck. “Riffel… yes. He went to get some fruit for the anchor ritual. For the children.” His eyes suddenly widened. “The children! Please, tell me they made it.”

Brabara placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. They didn’t. We found the aftermath of a battle with draconians. We were too late.”

Valendar’s face crumpled. “Oh no… what have I done?”

Brabara frowned. “You were a prisoner. How could any of this be your fault?”

Valendar drew a shuddering breath. “Because they tortured me. And I told them. I told them about the children.”

The small box at Ebyn’s side clicked open. Another secret added to their collection.

Brabara gestured to the bruises and burns across Valendar’s body. “Not willingly, I assume.”

“Of course not,” Valendar whispered. “But still…”

Ebyn stepped forward, his tone practical and unflinching. “Are these others like you?”

Valendar looked at the unconscious prisoners and nodded. “Yes. The survivors of our failed raid.”

Ebyn nodded once. “Argentia gave us wolfsbane infused with Peylon fruit. It will keep you from transforming. Take it, gather your people, and leave this place immediately. She’ll be waiting by the waterfall. I trust that means something to you, because it’s all we have.”

Valendar held Ebyn’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. This isn’t the time for self‑pity or blame. Thank you… Ebyn, was it?”

“Indeed,” Ebyn said. “While the others rouse your people, tell me what you know about this place, and the ritual set to culminate tonight.”

“Not much,” Valendar admitted. “They spoke of something called lunar crystals, ancient magic that shines with the moons’ light. I overheard Teremini telling an underling that everything must remain ‘in balance’ for the ritual to work.”

While they spoke, Xalen unlocked the three cells, allowing Seknafret and Brabara to wake the prisoners and check their injuries.

“Any idea where the ritual will be performed?” Ebyn asked.

“Above us, I’d wager,” Valendar said with a shrug. “The three towers are linked at the top by a translucent walkway. I saw it during our assault. I’m no wizard, but if I were doing moon magic, I’d want open sky.”

He glanced past Ebyn as one of his people stirred. “If you’ll excuse me, I should see to them.”

There were fifteen survivors in all, including Valendar. Most bore only minor wounds and the more injured were supported by the others.

The group escorted the rag‑tag survivors back through the tunnels to the entrance where they had fought the metallic constructs. Once the freed prisoners were safely outside, the four companions turned back and resumed their exploration, returning to the chamber with the massive sphere of flowing metal.

“I want to touch it,” Brabara said, barely restraining herself from reaching out to the mirror‑smooth surface.

“You will do no such thing,” Ebyn snapped. “Why are we wasting time down here when we know the ritual is happening above? That’s where the rod piece will be. That’s where we should go.”

“But there could be treasure down here,” Xalen countered.

“Treasure will do us no good if the…”

“Yes, yes, the multiverse collapses,” Xalen cut in. “But aren’t you even a little curious about what this is?” He pointed at the sphere.

Ebyn eyed it. “Of course I’m curious. But you know what they say about curiosity.”

Xalen rolled his eyes. “Fine. Stairs it is.”

They moved on, slipping past the chamber of undead. The creatures remained exactly as Ebyn had seen them through the arcane eye. Motionless, silent, waiting.

The group reached the base of the spiral stairs.

They climbed quickly, the spiral staircase looping around itself half a dozen times before they reached the top. Xalen pressed his ear to the door; hearing nothing, he eased it open a crack.

Beyond lay an empty circular courtyard. Directly opposite stood the ruined White Tower, its upper levels shattered, save for a portion of the upper dome. To the south rose the narrow Black Tower. The Red Tower was nowhere in sight – likely tucked just out of view beside the doorway.

“Looks clear,” Xalen murmured.

“Hold a moment,” Ebyn said. “We should renew the telepathic bond before we go any farther.”

“Any idea what time it is?” Brabara asked.

Xalen nudged the door open again and glanced up at the sky. “Mid‑afternoon, I’d say. Assuming the sun behaves the same here as back home.”

Ten minutes later, their minds were once more linked.

“I’ll go invisible and take a look around outside,” Xalen said.

He vanished from sight and slipped into the courtyard. The moment he stepped fully outside, he felt it – a subtle lightness in his limbs, as though the ground’s pull had weakened. His boots touched stone, but it felt like walking on the deck of a ship in calm water, buoyant and strangely effortless.

As he suspected, the Red Tower loomed immediately to their right. Several guards patrolled the outer walls of the keep, but their attention was fixed outward.

Looking up, Xalen saw the translucent walkways Valendar had described. From the top of each tower extended a fifteen‑foot‑wide bridge of pure light, all three converging at a broad circular platform suspended between them. At its centre stood a lone figure, bathed in a swirling nimbus where three beams – white, red, and black – met and intertwined.

Far above, hundreds of feet in the sky, small dark shapes circled. Birds? Draconians? Dragons? At this distance, he couldn’t tell.

The strange buoyancy tugged at him again. Xalen bent his knees and jumped experimentally, rising a little higher than expected. The ritual is warping the pull of the world itself, he thought, a faint hollowness blooming in his gut as he drifted back down.

“It still seems clear,” Xalen reported. “A few guards on the walls, but they’re relaxed. Doesn’t look like anyone’s expecting trouble.”

“No doubt they believe any threat has already been dealt with,” Ebyn said. “We can use that.”

“The Red Tower is closest,” Xalen said. “I’ll scout it first.”

He slipped silently to the door at the base of the Red Tower. The moment he crossed the threshold, the odd buoyancy vanished—his normal weight settling onto his shoulders like a cloak, heavy and familiar.

The chamber beyond filled the entire ground floor. Suspended from the ceiling hung a massive model of a planet with three moons, each affixed to bronze rings by delicate rods that rotated slowly under their own momentum. A beam of red light, reflected from a mirror mounted twenty feet up the outer wall, bathed the orrery in a crimson glow.

Twin staircases curved upward on either side, leading to a walkway overlooking the device.

Xalen glanced back through the cracked door. The courtyard remained empty.

“All clear. Come now”, he signalled through the telepathic bond.

Moments later, the stairway door opened and the others hurried across the courtyard, slipping inside as Xalen held the door for them.

“Wow,” Ebyn breathed as he entered. “Not as grand as the one in Kas’s fortress, but still… Krynn has its share of artisans.”

He studied the orrery for several minutes, eyes narrowing as he tracked the moons’ positions. The realization hit him hard.

“If this is accurate, the conjunction, the Night of the Eye, is only a couple of hours away. Perhaps even before sunset.” He straightened sharply. “We must hurry. We have far less time than we thought.”

Xalen continued scouting ahead while Brabara kept watch. Ebyn and Seknafret lingered a moment longer to examine the device before following.

The level above proved empty. A simple raised walkway with the red lunar mirror mounted on the wall, its beam angled down toward the orrery. Xalen ascended further to the third level.

This floor was furnished as a bedroom.

A four‑poster bed rested against the curved wall, a wooden chest at its foot. A writing desk stood to the left, flanked by several bookshelves. Sunlight spilled down the stairs leading upward, presumably to the roof.

“There’s a desk up here,” Xalen reported.

“We’re coming,” Ebyn replied.

The others joined him and began searching the room. Ebyn went straight to the desk, where he found a logbook detailing the locations of six moonlight mirrors throughout the complex. It also listed the prisoners – and included a note from someone named Akaazi requesting “another subject,” whatever that implied.

Meanwhile, Xalen approached the wooden chest.

It shifted.

Before he could react, the chest warped into a mass of glistening flesh, a pseudopod lashing out. Xalen dodged, but Seknafret, caught off guard, was struck.

Brabara moved instantly. Her glaive came down in a brutal arc, severing the tendril. Seknafret staggered back and unleashed three crackling eldritch blasts that slammed into the mimic, hurling it against the wall. It collapsed, dead.

The entire encounter lasted only seconds.

With renewed caution, they finished searching the room but found nothing else of value.

“There are notes here regarding the ritual, I think,” Ebyn said, fanning the papers across the desk.

Seknafret stepped beside him. “Does any of this make sense to you?”

Ebyn frowned. “The symbols aren’t familiar, but I think I understand the general principles. Light from the three moons is channelled to the centre, where it’s combined by the weave. What’s interesting is that each moon’s light can counter one of the others. Red cancels black, black cancels white, and white cancels red.”

“Is that important?” Seknafret asked.

Ebyn shrugged. “Maybe, if we decide to disrupt the balance Valendar mentioned.”

They regrouped and continued their ascent toward the tower roof.

The top of the tower opened into a wide circular platform framed by six stone columns, each twenty feet tall, supporting a domed roof with a great round aperture at its centre. A five‑foot‑high balustrade ran between the columns, offering a sweeping view of the surrounding mountains. A cold wind curled through the opening above, carrying the thin, metallic scent of high altitude.

In the middle of the platform rose a stepped dais directly beneath the opening above. At its centre stood a rune‑etched stone pillar, and atop it rested a foot‑tall ovoid of glowing red crystal. A silver nimbus of moonlight shimmered around the dais, and from the crystal a tight beam of crimson light lanced outward, straight toward the chanting figure on the luminous circular walkway suspended between the three towers.

Looking across, they saw that the White and Black Towers mirrored this configuration, each crowned with its own crystal and its own beam of moonlight: one white, one black, one red.

Where the three beams met, they braided together into a swirling, coruscating shield around the female elf at the ritual’s centre. She chanted with arms outstretched, utterly absorbed. Between her hands floated the rod piece, green energy streaming from it like liquid light, feeding the spell.

They had only a heartbeat to take in the sight, before a deep, guttural growl snapped their attention back.

A massive undead werewolf – its eyes burning red – lunged at them, jaws slavering.

Brabara stepped forward, glaive sweeping out to intercept. Her blade met only air. The creature dissolved into a crackle of red light and reappeared between Ebyn and Seknafret, claws slashing.

Ebyn reacted instantly, teleporting away in a flash of arcane displacement. Seknafret vanished as well, slipping into invisibility and retreating down the stairs.

Now momentarily safe, Ebyn gathered his power and hurled a spell meant to crush bone and tear undead flesh. The magic slammed into the guardian—

—and did nothing.

The creature shook it off as though brushing away dust.

Xalen darted back, loosing arrows as he moved. The shafts struck, but the werewolf only snarled and turned its burning gaze upon him.

Cold terror knifed through Xalen’s gut. Pain exploded behind his eyes. His vision swam, and when it cleared, the creature seemed impossibly vast, impossibly dreadful.

“What in the nine hells is that thing?” he gasped, voice cracking.

From his vantage point floating just outside the tower, Ebyn saw movement – two more guardians emerging from the other towers.

From the Black Tower strode a knight clad in ancient, corroded armour, sword raised high. Through the gaps in its plates, Ebyn glimpsed bone and rotting flesh. The dead knight paused, scanning the rooftop with hollow purpose, then began marching toward the Red Tower with grim inevitability.

From the White Tower, a massive, winged humanoid burst into view. It radiated a terrible, corrupted majesty as it soared toward them with alarming speed. White light suffused its form like that of an angelic herald – but Ebyn could see that it too was undead.

Teremini, or whoever served her, was clearly a master necromancer.

“We’ve got company,” Ebyn warned through the telepathic link. “Take that wolf down fast.”

Brabara turned just in time to see the winged creature arrowing toward them. “Oh shit.”

Thinking fast, she invoked her magic and grew to giant size, then lunged for the undead werewolf. The two grappled violently, claws raking against her enlarged arms. With a grunt of effort, she managed to seize the beast properly and heaved it over the edge of the tower.

Brabara barked a triumphant laugh as it plummeted.

Her victory lasted all of two seconds.

The creature slowed mid‑fall, drifting downward like a feather. It landed lightly, growled once, then bounded with impossible strength, leaping over the newly built walls of the complex and vanishing around the tower’s far side.

Brabara stared, stunned. “We won’t have much time. It’ll be back in a few seconds.”

Seknafret fixed her attention on the nearest lunar mirror. If they could disrupt the ritual’s balance, perhaps the guardians would fall with it. She sprinted down the stairs to the level below, levitating out toward the red mirror mounted on the wall. As she worked to pry it free, she heard the scrape of claws on stone. The undead werewolf was already climbing.

Above, the winged guardian landed beside Brabara. Its greatsword came down in two brutal arcs, each blow carving deep and sending a wave of black, necrotic agony through her flesh.

Oh yes, purred the dagger at Xalen’s hip, its voice curling through his mind. That is the perfect opponent to showcase my martial skill.

“Are you joking?” Xalen hissed back. “I’m not going anywhere near that thing.”

He shoved the weapon’s hunger aside and fired a volley of arrows. The shafts sank into the angelic corpse, drawing a low grunt, but the creature barely slowed.

Below, Ebyn spotted the undead werewolf entering the Red Tower. At its speed, it would reach the top in seconds. The angel was already engaged, and the dead knight was moments away. One guardian was nearly too much. Three would be impossible.

He pulled one of Alustriel’s scrolls and read the incantation. Reality buckled. Gravity inverted across the luminous walkway. The dead knight staggered, then drifted upward – slowly, but enough to keep it from joining the fight.

Teremini, suspended at the ritual’s centre, remained untouched. Whether it was the convergence of the beams or the rod piece itself, she was shielded from his magic.

Above the floating knight, Ebyn glimpsed two dragons circling high overhead. At this distance he couldn’t tell their kind, but on Krynn, dragons rarely meant anything good.

The knight, now upside down a hundred feet above the walkway, uttered a string of arcane syllables and thrust a hand toward the point where Ebyn’s spell anchored itself. It tried to unravel the magic, but Ebyn, attuned to the threads of fate, twisted the moment just enough. The knight’s counterspell fizzled.

The white guardian’s head snapped toward Ebyn. It stepped away from Brabara – who seized the opening and slashed deep with her glaive, staggering the creature.

Snarling, the guardian spat a phrase of dark power. A ring of whirling blades erupted around the tower, encircling both Brabara and Xalen in a deadly barrier.

Brabara saw the creature shift its focus toward Ebyn. Fury and pain surged through her. Without hesitation she pushed forward – straight through the blade wall. Steel tore into her flesh in a dozen places, but she forced herself through, blood streaking her arms.

She reached the winged undead, grabbed hold of its massive frame, and twisted, driving it backward into the very wall of blades it had conjured moments before.

The blade barrier winked out.

Brabara roared in fury and tightened her grip.

Below, Seknafret, now clutching the red lunar mirror, watched the undead werewolf sprint up the stairs. It barely spared her a glance as it bounded past, intent only on returning to the rooftop battle.

Xalen pivoted and fired several arrows into its rotting hide, but the creature barely slowed.

Ebyn descended toward the swirling melee beneath the tower’s dome, positioning himself so he had a clear line on both the white and red guardians. With a sharp word, he unleashed a jagged bolt of lightning that arced between them.

The air filled with the crackle of ozone and the stench of scorched flesh. The red guardian took the brunt of it, staggering under the blast.

Seknafret reached the top of the stairs, raised the mirror, and fired three crackling eldritch blasts into the red guardian’s already‑ravaged body. The undead beast collapsed, its form unravelling into ash.

“I’m going to try to redirect the beam,” she said, lifting the mirror toward the glowing crystal.

Meanwhile, the white guardian, still held in Brabara’s arms, looked down at her. Its perfect, death‑pale features softened. Then it leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The pain was instant and all‑consuming.

For three agonizing heartbeats, Brabara felt her very soul being siphoned away. Her strength drained. Her knees buckled. When the creature lifted its head, most of its wounds had closed.

Brabara stared up at it, dazed. The guardian gazed back with serene cruelty, making no effort to escape her weakening hold. Its lips curled into a knowing smile.

Brabara released it and staggered back. No way in the nine hells was she letting that thing kiss her again. She hefted her glaive and struck three times in rapid succession, carving into its flesh and undoing a fraction of the life it had stolen.

Above the fray, the dead knight, still suspended by Ebyn’s magic, let out a frustrated roar. A sphere of orange‑black flame formed in its gauntleted hand and streaked downward, slamming into Ebyn’s chest.

Fire blossomed across him, burning and searing, though the necrotic edge of the spell was dulled by his innate resistance. Even so, the impact broke his concentration.

The reverse gravity collapsed.

The knight drifted downward and landed lightly on the transparent walkway, its sword already rising for the next assault.

Seknafret’s arms trembled as she held the lunar mirror aloft. She angled the concave surface, trying to catch the red beam and redirect it toward the black tower’s crystal. Her muscles burned, and she craned her neck to check the wizard still chanting at the centre of the luminous walkway.

“It’s not doing anything,” she said through clenched teeth. “Am I even doing this right?”

“Red light on the black crystal, black on the white, white on the red,” Ebyn replied.

“Damn it.” Her arms shook violently. “Maybe it needs all three at once.”

“You might be right,” Ebyn thought back. “We need the white and black mirrors too.”

“Shit.” Seknafret let her arms drop, setting the mirror down with a gasp. “Do we even know where the other two are?”

“I know the rooms,” Ebyn said. “But we haven’t actually seen them.”

“One of the red mirrors was in the Red Tower,” Xalen added. “Makes sense the others are in theirs.”

Seknafret grimaced. “I’m not keen on exploring while all this is happening. Is there another way to disrupt the ritual?”

“Removing one of the crystals,” Ebyn said.

“Let me try.” She reached toward the red crystal, but her hand stopped inches short, repelled by a faint, shimmering barrier. “There’s something blocking it.”

“Less talking and more killing, fuckers!” Brabara shouted, voice raw with pain.

Brabara watched the undead knight draw closer. If it reached them, the fight would go from bad to catastrophic. The werewolf had been one thing, this knight was something else entirely.

“It’s coming!” she yelled, unable to disengage from the white guardian without letting it fly straight at Ebyn.

Ebyn darted across the battlefield, weaving sigils in the air. A shimmering barrier flickered around the knight, visible for only a heartbeat before turning invisible.

The knight strode forward and slammed into the unseen wall of force. It howled, a hollow, furious sound, and fixed its burning gaze on Ebyn. It centred itself, raised a gauntleted hand, and uttered an eldritch phrase.

Ebyn felt reality twist.

A void yawned beneath him, pulling at his essence, threatening to unravel him thread by thread. He clung to his sense of self, his name, his purpose, his place in the world. The vortex shuddered, then collapsed.

The knight screamed in pure, unrestrained rage.

Xalen kept firing at the undead angel, but the creature moved with uncanny grace. For every arrow that struck, two more skittered off its hide or missed entirely.

Seknafret stared at the silvery nimbus surrounding the red crystal. Ancient artifact magic, impossible to dispel. She needed another angle. Her people worshipped the sun, not the moons; this was foreign ground.

“Wait,” she whispered as an idea sparked. “That’s it.”

She dug into her pack and pulled out her Driftglobe, a glass sphere glowing faintly from within. She spoke the command word.

Brilliant sunlight flooded the rooftop.

She turned back to the crystal, and the silvery nimbus was gone, burned away by the simulated sun.

“We have to smash the crystal!” she shouted. “It’s our best shot at stopping the ritual!”

Brabara risked a quick glance over her shoulder. The black guardian was still trapped inside Ebyn’s invisible barrier. Good. She twisted around the white guardian, positioning herself between it and the red crystal.

“Right,” she growled. “I’m on it.”

Throwing caution aside, she broke from the white guardian and brought her glaive down on the red lunar crystal with every ounce of strength she had. The enchanted blade rang against the impossibly hard stone, the shock jarring her arms so violently she nearly dropped the weapon.

The crystal didn’t even scratch.

“I can’t smash it,” she said, then spotted a thin crack in the mortar holding it in place. “But I might be able to dig it out.”

“Do that,” Seknafret said. “I’ll handle the guardians.”

Her eyes ignited with unnatural radiance. Two searing beams of sunlight lanced from her gaze, cutting through both the white and black guardians and streaking onward toward the ritualist, only to fizzle harmlessly against the shimmering barrier surrounding the mage.

The white guardian launched itself skyward and streaked toward Ebyn. The wizard barely had time to raise his hands before the creature’s greatsword carved into him. Once, twice, each blow fuelled by terrible undead strength.

Ebyn’s body went limp and drifted downward, falling from the sky like a discarded doll.

“No!” Brabara screamed. “Not my Ebby Webby!”

Seknafret saw the wild grief in Brabara’s eyes – that split‑second before she would have hurled herself off the tower after him.

“Stay on the crystal!” Seknafret commanded. “I’ll get him.”

With Ebyn’s fall, the wall of force collapsed. The black guardian stepped forward, sword raised, its red eyes burning with murderous intent.

Brabara slammed her glaive into the mortar again and again, chipping away at the stone. The crystal wobbled, almost free.

The white guardian realized what she was doing. It swooped in a brilliant arc, seized Brabara in its arms, and hurled her off the tower wall, just as she had done to the red guardian earlier.

Xalen darted to the crystal, prying at the loosened mortar. Brabara had done most of the work, but the stone still clung stubbornly to its mounting.

Seknafret stepped onto the transparent walkway above Ebyn’s fallen form. She extended her hand, channelling healing magic downward. Golden light streamed from her fingers, striking Ebyn’s body.

Below, the wizard’s eyes snapped open. He gasped – a long, ragged breath – as life surged back into him.

The undead knight closed on Seknafret, sword raised high. The searing light from her eyes had blinded it for a moment, and it swung wildly, but even half‑blind, one brutal strike connected, driving Seknafret to her knees.

Far below, Brabara stood outside the thirty‑foot wall, staring up in disbelief at the undead werewolf’s impossible agility. Even with gravity weakened, she’d never make that jump. She cursed – then remembered Seknafret’s talisman.

She grinned, triggered the magic, and vanished. Reappearing atop the tower beside Seknafret. The grin died instantly when she saw the dead knight looming over her friend.

“I can’t get this thing off!” Xalen shouted, abandoning the crystal and taking to the air. He fired two arrows into the white guardian’s ravaged body, but the undead angel still refused to fall.

The knight’s vision cleared. It locked onto Seknafret and brought its blade down in three vicious arcs, the last one angled to take her head clean off.

Brabara reacted instantly. She triggered another rune, redirecting the killing blow’s energy away from Seknafret and toward the white guardian hovering nearby. Tendrils of flame and necrotic force ripped into the angelic corpse. It shrieked and plummeted from the sky, finally dead.

Seknafret staggered upright, stunned she was still breathing. She thrust out her hand and unleashed a barrage of eldritch blasts. The first slammed into the black guardian, knocking it ten feet backward off the raised walkway. It drifted down toward the ground, landing near Ebyn, who was struggling to rise.

The second and third blasts struck the red lunar crystal. The force cracked the mortar and tore the artifact free at last.

Brabara surged forward, her giant strides shaking the stone beneath her. She reached the rune‑carved pillar, scooped up the crystal in one smooth motion, and tucked it securely into her clothes.

“I’ve got it,” she sent through the telepathic bond.

The moment the red crystal vanished, the ritual buckled.

The remaining beams flared violently, clashing in mid‑air. The delicate balance shattered. Sparks arced around the startled elf as lightning rippled across her body and detonated with a deep thwump that shook the entire complex. Both remaining beams winked out.

The rod piece, once suspended between her hands, clattered across the luminous walkway. Teremini ignored it completely. Instead, she looked up, fear twisting her features.

The others followed her gaze.

The dragons that had been circling high above were now plummeting toward them, growing monstrously large as they descended.

Ebyn shot into the air just as doors around the complex burst open. Onlookers spilled out, drawn by the commotion, only to scream when they saw the undead knight rising to its feet and Ebyn streaking toward the Red Tower.

The dragons hit the walkway with thunderous force, wings flaring wide. Teremini recovered quickly. In a blink she was wreathed in flame, encased in a shimmering bubble, and surrounded by four darting mirror images.

Seknafret fired a volley of eldritch blasts, but the bubble absorbed them without effort.

Brabara charged. Her glaive pierced the bubble, but the shifting duplicates made it nearly impossible to land a clean strike. Only one blow found true flesh and the rest dispelled illusions.

One of the dragons inhaled and unleashed a cone of killing frost that engulfed both Teremini and Brabara. The wizard’s flames blunted the worst of it. Brabara was not so fortunate.

The second dragon dropped low between Teremini and the Red Tower, head lowered, jaws open but not breathing. Its eyes flicked from Seknafret to Xalen to Ebyn as he arrived.

The message was unmistakable.

Stay out of this.

Brabara ignored the warning. She struck again. This time every blow hit home.

The first dragon whipped around, its massive tail slamming into her with bone‑shattering force. She hit the ground hard, and the last of Teremini’s duplicates vanished.

“Ignore the wizard,” Ebyn’s voice echoed in her mind. “Get the rod piece. That’s all that matters.”

The rod piece.

Brabara spotted it rolling near Teremini’s feet. She lunged. Her first grab missed, but the second closed around the artifact. She rolled onto her back, clutching Seknafret’s talisman.

She activated it just as the dragon’s talons closed around the mage.

Brabara vanished, and reappeared beside Seknafret, still prone, but with the rod piece clutched tightly in her hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ebyn said.

As Ebyn finished the spell, the two dragons launched themselves skyward, one clutching the limp wizard in its talons, while armed soldiers poured from the Black and White Towers. Below, the undead knight clawed its way upward.

Then everything snapped into stillness.

A crackle of static washed over them, and in the next heartbeat they stood once more beside Alustriel’s portal, exactly where they had arrived the previous morning.

“That was cutting it close,” Ebyn said.

“I’ll say,” Brabara groaned, still lying flat on her back with the rod piece clutched to her chest. “I don’t think I ever want to be that close to a dragon again.”

Ebyn stepped over and offered her a hand. Brabara grabbed it and hauled herself up, nearly dragging him down with her.

“Not that, you fool,” Ebyn sputtered, steadying himself and extending his hand again. “The rod piece.”

Brabara blinked at his outstretched palm, then at the artifact in her grip. Instead of handing it over, she wrapped her arms around him in what she clearly believed was a warm embrace.

“I thought we’d lost you,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Ebyn struggled, but every attempt to push free only sank his hands deeper into soft flesh, backed by unyielding muscle. No wonder her enemies had trouble escaping. Eventually he went limp and waited for the ordeal to end.

“Release me,” he said once he realized she might never let go.

A few seconds later, she did. “Why didn’t you teleport us to the tree?” she asked, finally handing him the rod piece.

“Whatever for?” Ebyn said.

“So, we can give the dryad the lunar crystal and restore the tree,” Brabara said. “And, you know, help the lycanthropes live happy lives. Any of this ringing a bell?”

Ebyn rolled his eyes. “Fine. Tomorrow. Tonight, I’m sleeping in a real bed at the sanctuary. We’ll come back in the morning and do the dryad thing.”

Seknafret shook her head. “I’ll stay here. On this side of the portal.”

“Me too,” Brabara said.

Ebyn turned to Xalen. “Please tell me you’re not passing up a warm bed and a bath just to prove a point.”

“Not me,” Xalen said. “I’ll go with you. But we are coming back.”

Ebyn pressed his palms over his eyes and sighed. “Yes, yes, of course we’re coming back.”

---

Ebyn and Xalen stepped through the portal and materialized in Alustriel’s sanctum. A few moments later, the two archmages entered the chamber. Alustriel’s eyes widened when she saw only the pair of them.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice trembling. “Seknafret and Brabara – are they injured? Captured? Dead?”

Mordenkainen’s gaze flicked to Ebyn. “Do you have it?”

“We do,” Ebyn said, handing him the fifth rod piece. “And Seknafret and Brabara are both fine. Stubborn, but fine. They chose to stay behind for the night to finish a local quest in the morning.”

“So, we can all finish a local quest in the morning,” Xalen added.

“Quite right,” Ebyn said smoothly. “I trust you won’t mind keeping the portal to Krynn open for another day.”

Alustriel’s relief washed across her face like sunlight breaking through cloud. She smiled warmly. “Of course. It speaks well of you that even with the enormity of your task, you still make time for the small good along the way.”

---

That night, as they slept – separated by worlds, by planes, by the thin veil of the portal – they slipped once more into the shared dream.

Distance meant nothing.

The moment sleep claimed them, the four were drawn together again, pulled into the same strange current that had touched them before.

Vecna stood in Sigil.

The air around him shimmered with the city’s impossible geometry, and before him hovered several dabus – silent, drifting emissaries of the Lady of Pain. Their rebus‑speech formed pleading symbols in the air, urging him to leave her domain. They conveyed that she offered this warning only out of respect for the ancient bond they both shared with Mok’slyk.

Vecna, still thrumming with the stolen power of Iuz and flushed with triumph after outwitting the Dark Powers themselves, dismissed the warning with contempt. He waved the dabus away like bothersome insects.

The Lady of Pain did not tolerate rejection.

Across the multiverse she called in debts, summoning champions – adventurers of staggering might, each owing her a favour. She sent them to Sigil to exact her vengeance.

The dream shifted.

The coalition stormed Vecna’s tower. A battle of apocalyptic scale erupted – steel and spell, shadow and light, the clash of destinies. For the first time in an age, Vecna found himself pressed, then overwhelmed.

Only then did he understand the truth.

He had siphoned away too much of his essence, scattering his power into the aspects he had unleashed across the planes. He was diminished – fatally so. And now he stood before foes he could no longer outthink, outmanoeuvre, or overpower.

As the final axe descended, cleaving into his ruined form, Vecna felt something he had not known in centuries.

Failure.

He had grown complacent, arrogant in his victories, certain of his supremacy. And now, in the moment of his unmaking, he understood the cost of that hubris.

The dream ended with the echo of that realization – cold, sharp, and absolute.

---

In the morning, Xalen and Ebyn stepped through the portal back to Krynn to find Seknafret and Brabara healed, rested, and ready to travel.

The six‑hour trek through the dense forest passed without incident. By mid‑afternoon they reached the ailing Peylon Tree. They entered the vast maw where spiders had attacked them days earlier and called up to Rosintar, the treant, as they passed beneath the ledge where it kept its silent vigil.

They repeated their rope‑and‑immovable‑rod descent into the lower grotto and called out for Gazaia.

The dryad emerged from the roots, her form dimmer and more brittle than before. She squinted at them, voice thin and strained. “Are you friends of this tree?”

Seknafret stepped forward, holding the red lunar crystal in both hands. “We are. And we bring this artifact of ancient magic to help restore its health.”

Gazaia gasped and surged toward her with surprising speed, hands half‑raised as if to seize the crystal. She stopped herself just short of touching it. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “My desperation overtakes me. May I?”

“Of course,” Seknafret said. “It is a gift.”

The dryad’s spindly fingers closed around the crystal. She drew a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. Within seconds, bright green buds sprouted across her hands and climbed her arms. Her bark‑brown skin flushed into a deep, vibrant green, and the faint rot‑scent that clung to her dissipated.

“I cannot thank you enough,” she said at last, opening her eyes – now clear and luminous. She looked at each of them in turn. “May I know your names, so they may be written into the history of this proud tree?”

They gave their names, and Gazaia bowed her head in gratitude before she and the red lunar crystal sank back into the root‑choked earth.

“Are we ready to head back to Sigil now?” Ebyn asked once she was gone.

Seknafret took one last lingering look around the grotto. “Yes,” she said softly. “We are.”