In the wake of chaos, a hush has fallen over the war-scarred lands of Ariad. The Fae have vanished from its borders, their wrath now redirected toward the Dragon Empire. In Ariad, villages no longer burn. The screaming has stopped. For the first time in many months, silence means peace.

With the skies clearing and the land no longer under siege, families are leaving the crowded safety of Volaire and other strongholds. They return not to homes, but to ruins—to rebuild from ash and memory.

And yet, amid this fragile hope, something vibrant stirs.

A caravan arrives.

It winds its way into Volaire like a song on the wind—wagons adorned with jangling bobbits, sun-painted panels, and the scent of spices and road-dust. The Ramtovi have come.

Nomads, weavers of fate, and caretakers of stories, the Ramtovi waste no time. Fortune-tellers raise their tents, where whispers of destiny curl like incense. Crafters set up stations, offering skilled hands to mend torn cloaks and weary boots. Donation baskets overflow with garments for those left with nothing but soot.

There is laughter. There is color. There is hope.

As the Ramtovi prepare for festival, so too do the people of Volaire. The city begins to shake off its shadow. The festival is not just a celebration—it is a ritual of healing, a defiance of despair.

Festival is here. The Ramtovi are here. Come dance beneath the banners and remember what joy feels like. 

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Nymera frowns and nods. "I see... And I can certainly understand why you would be afraid if they have the power to do that." She sighs. "Well, I know you need time. So does Kalil. Perhaps it is best for you each to focus on other things for a while. Until things cool down." Nymera reaches out and then stops before touching Zinna. "If it alleviates your fear any, I don't believe Kalil is focused on you or what happened anymore. He's been focused on the fight with the Fae. So I don't think you need to worry about getting taken or anything. But I know my words are practically meaningless since I don't have any power over them." She sighs. "I know you are scared and I would love to help alleviate that fear but I don't suppose I can."

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Zinna’s fingers toyed restlessly with the edge of her sleeve, her gaze distant as she spoke—her voice low, like the words were reluctant to be born.

“I didn’t think Connor would ever trap me anywhere. Not him. He knows how much I fear being held against my will. It’s one of the few things I’ve never been quiet about. He knows that.”

She shook her head slowly, her mouth tight with hurt. “I never thought either of them—Connor or Kalil—would use their power on me. Not like that. But one argument—just one heated moment that might have passed with time—and Connor took away my choice. My will.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, troubled.

“That place… it’s supposed to be a neutral plane. A place where magic doesn’t function. A level field where no one has the upper hand. But his magic worked there.” She paused, her voice barely a whisper now. “Only his did. And the emptiness of it… even I could feel it. And I don’t have some deep connection to the magical planes like the rest of you. But even I knew that place felt wrong. Hollow. Like the air itself didn’t want to hold us.”

Her hands stilled, clasping together in her lap, but her knuckles were white.

“I want to believe it was just a mistake. A desperate choice. I want to find some way back to the friendship we used to have. But I’m not there yet.”

Zinna looked up at Nymera then, her expression open but clouded with sorrow. “I’m still too afraid of them both. Of what they can do—of what they already did. Maybe when Ba returns...”

Her voice broke slightly as she tried to steady it with a breath.

“But for now? I’m scared, Nymera. Scared that one wrong sentence, one moment of frustration, and I’ll be snatched away again. Taken like a thing, not a person. Just gone.”

She blinked rapidly and looked down again, hands trembling faintly. 

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Nymera sighs heavily as she hears Zinna's tale. "I will be honest, I do not know where Common Ground is but to be trapped anywhere... I would want my freedom too.' She turns to face Zinna and lifts her hand so Nymera can clasp it in both of hers. "There is no reason for him to do that again though right? You are no longer engaged to them and well... They have no reason to. Correct?" 

Nymera pats her hand. "I know Kalil had been having doubts. He'd expressed as much to me. But he never said anything about Wolfrum and Selena betraying him. He always expressed to me that he felt the opposite. That he'd betrayed them." She shakes her head. "But he hasn't mentioned anything about that in the last few weeks. In fact, he mentioned Selena coming to his dream. He told me he was glad to see her. He actually said Wolfrum's name a few days ago which I haven't heard in months. He's been... Different but in high spirits at least."

She gives Zinna a soft smile. "It has been a few months since the wedding and since Connor trapped you, yes? Has he given you any reason to think he would do so again? I'm really hoping with time that the two, or three I suppose, of you can... Mend things. If that's what you both want. I'll be honest, Kalil doesn't talk about you. So I don't know how open to mending things he is but I'm sure I can find out if it is something you would like to do." She frowns. "But if your worlds are so different... If they hurt you so badly... I can also understand not wanting to reconcile things."

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Zinna clasped her hands together tightly, her fingers twisting against one another as she took a steadying breath. Her voice, when it came, was calm but deliberate, each word chosen with care.

“Yes. He changed,” she said quietly. “He let doubt creep in. And instead of talking, instead of staying open… he let it fester. He doubted himself and his ability to protect me. He's always doubted my ability to protect myself. He doubted Wolfrum. He even doubted Ba.”

She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t know if he still believes Wolfrum and Ba betrayed him… or if he finally accepts that she’s only gone for a little while. She told me she’s visited him—in dreams—but…” Zinna shook her head gently. “We don’t talk about Kalil.”

She gave a shrug that tried for nonchalance but didn’t quite reach it. “I didn't do anything other than tell him he was being an idiot. Because he was. He let his fear and uncertainty take control. Every old doubt he’s ever had about his worth, his strength, his place in all of this—they had full control of the reins. And he wouldn’t hear anything else.”

Zinna sighed, her gaze drifting briefly around them before she leaned in just a bit, voice dropping to a quieter register.

“Connor trapped us in Common Ground,” she murmured. “Said it was to make us talk. To fix things. But it didn’t fix anything. If anything, it shoved the wedge deeper. It made me see something I can’t unsee.”

She looked back at Nymera, voice low and steady now.

“Connor made me realize that I’m never really free—not so long as I’m under the dragons’ wings, so to speak. At any moment, he or Kalil or one of their men can find me. Take me. Pull me away from wherever I am, from whoever I’m with. And lock me away for however long they see fit.”

Her hands unclenched slowly, but the tension remained in her shoulders.

“That truth… it changed me.”

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Nymera listens quietly and then smiles at the last bit. "I'm glad you are getting together with your people and trying to do some good out there. I hope you can achieve much." She furrows her brow. "I know the house was part of it. I know Kalil was trying to do something he thought was thoughtful and I understand you didn't feel that way. But...There is more to this than I know about. He has changed Zinna. I don't know what happened between the two of you but he's..." She presses her lips together as she tries to find the words. "Something happened right before the wedding. I don't know details. I know he came to me and he was... Different. Quiet. Thoughtful." She smiles at Zinna. "But despite whatever happened, he got back his confidence. I had been watching his confidence wane over the weeks before the wedding but one chat with you? And he was more confident than before." She shrugs and chuckles. "So thank you for helping him find his confidence again. Even if he would never admit it was because of you, I know it was."

Nymera sighs and pats Zinna's hand. "If it would help, I can explain why he got so upset about the house but I know that doesn't really matter to you anymore. Besides, I know that isn't what caused him to come to me and reassure me that I could continue speaking with you. And I don't know how Connor fits into this at all. What did he do that... Felt like weeks? I don't think I understand?" She squeezes Zinna's hand. "I'd like to understand. If you can tell me what I'm missing."

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Zinna looked down, her gaze tracing the folds of her skirt as her fingers fidgeted with the fabric. She shook her head again, slowly.

“There was anger. There was fire,” she murmured. “And I tried to let it out—tried to let it burn clean instead of letting it rot away inside me. But I wasn’t in a place where I could speak freely, and I… was taught a lesson. One Ba has tried to teach me for years.” She gave a tired, sardonic breath. “But Connor—he’s the one who finally made it stick. I don’t even know how long it took. It felt like weeks… but I was only gone an hour or two at most.”

Her eyes flicked to the air around them—the empty, silent space—and lingered there for a moment. Then she looked down again, drawing a deeper breath as though steadying something brittle inside her.

“The short of it, as far as I understand, is this: King Kalil built a house. A beautiful one, I’m sure. Built much of it for me. And yet, never once asked what I might want, or where I would want to live. Then he got offended when I didn’t accept it as the gift he meant it to be.”

Her voice softened as her fingers stilled on the fabric in her lap. “When I came back to the manor after spending time with my people—after finding Selena and Wolfrum gone, and everyone else tense and watchful—I didn’t want to stay. Not with the dragons. Not surrounded by soldiers. I didn’t want to be another problem someone had to protect...”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked down again. The silence stretched, then she spoke more quietly.

“There was chaos at Dragon Manor. All I wanted was peace. And Kalil… he got offended that I was scared.”

She gave a sharp shake of her head and inhaled, trying to settle her nerves again before turning her gaze back to Nymera.

“I'm still just me. I was never meant to be Queen of the Dragons. There are too many ancient rules in that world that clash with my own heritage. It was never going to work.”

She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug.

“I’ve been in contact with some of my people. I’m heading to a meeting with the bandoliers soon—once we find a safe enough place to gather.”

A trace of light returned to her voice then, and her smile, while small, was warmer.

“I’ve been thinking of putting together a festival of sorts. I know I can’t provide food, but… we have seamstresses, cobblers, carpenters—people who can fix just about anything. I’m hoping Zuigrii and the artisan’s guild will help too. The people could bring what needs mending, trade for better-fitting clothes, donate to those with nothing. Maybe I can even get Edgar to lend some of his undead to help with farm repairs and fences.”

She smiled to herself, a little brighter now, though her tone was still gentle. “I’ll talk it over with my people. Though, I need to speak with Vesta and Lady Katalina first about another thing.”
 

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Nymera nods as she listens. "I was surprised too when he ended the engagement. Even more surprised to find out that you two had gotten into an... Argument?" She sighs. "I don't really know what happened. I just know he was hurt and angry. But he told me that he wasn't going to stop us from chatting." She smirks and squeezes Zinna's hand. "I could always sense you weren't quite happy with your life at the manor. I can't say I understand needing to be out on the road, always moving, but I understand that life is very different from the sheltered one you've been living."

Nymera gives her a small smile. "Given the way Kalil... I expected you to be... Angry? Certainly more fiery than this." She chuckles half heartedly and nudges Zinna with her elbow. "Come on, Zinna. I know things went badly with Kalil but you said you've been out on the road again? Traveling? Have you been talking to your people? Are you enjoying your time on the road again?"

She suddenly sighs and looks down at their hands. "Or maybe you shouldn't tell me? Is it safer that way?" She huffs and chuckles. "I really am bad at knowing what to say when it comes to these things. I know how to be friends with 'Zinna, the future Queen of Dragons' but I don't know how I should be with 'Zinna, the Ramtovi Princess'." She gives Zinna an awkward smile.

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Zinna smiles softly again and nods in agreement with Nymera’s thoughts on her own freedom. Then she gently places her other hand atop Nymera’s, returning the warm, reassuring squeeze with a touch of fondness.

“I’ve been… around. Spent some time in Seshtau, and went to see Sofira and the girls for a bit. Mostly I’ve been at the orphanage, trying to focus on helping however I can.” She paused, a small shrug lifting one shoulder. “Probably going to see Charlotte soon. She sent me a letter requesting my presence. Some things were said the last time we spoke, and… my relationship with that branch of the family has been damaged as well.”

She paused again and gave a small, self-aware shake of her head.

“Though I suppose it’s partially my fault that my people don’t have the best reputation around here. We’ve been helping, but mostly in the shadows. So now, too many think we’re nothing more than leeches—good for pretty clothes and dancing whores, and not much else.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes with restrained irritation before shaking her head again, this time as if to shake off the weight of it all.

Zinna took a deep breath, steadying herself, and when she spoke again, the words came like lines she’d practiced many times over.

“I do not belong in King Kalil’s world. His way of life and mine do not meld well enough to form the bond needed for a happy marriage. I crave the open road, and he requires well-guarded walls. He is stoic, keeps his emotions tightly locked away. I wear mine on my sleeves like jewels. I need open communication; he is wary of opening himself to anyone but Connor.

“I want to move with the flow of the wind and rivers. He needs structure—every moment of every day mapped out with purpose. And with so many powerful enemies, I can’t be that close to him without giving up who I am. Who I’m meant to be.”

She paused, a flicker of lingering hurt flashing in her eyes.

“I was hurt and shocked by his sudden decision to end our arrangement — especially when it was made without even a drop of my input. But after taking time to reflect, to focus on myself and the person I’ve become, I see now that… it’s probably for the best.”

Her voice softened, losing the formality for something more vulnerable.

“I hope we can remain allies. Even friends, maybe...”She opened her mouth as if to say something more, the words hovering just behind her lips—unspoken but heavy. But then, just as quickly, she closed it again. Instead, she turned back to Nymera and offered a quiet, reassuring smile. 

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Nymera joins her on the bench. When they sit, she reaches over and lets her hand settle over Zinna's. The few students wondering the gardens glance their way but quickly return to their own studies or rushing to their next class, leaving the two of them almost entirely alone in the garden. 

She gives Zinna a worried look. "I'm... Free as I can be. And want to be. Considering all I saw for almost a hundred years was the farm. I know I'm... A target, I suppose." She chuckles but it isn't heartfelt. She squeezes Zinna's hand gently. "Zinna... Talk to me. What's going on? Where have you been?" She sighs. "I know things went badly between you and Kalil. Talk to me. I'm listening." 

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Zinna smiled softly again and gave a small nod.

“The gardens will be fine. I’ve recently remembered how much I do love the open air. The smells of plants and flowers drifting on the breeze…” She tilted her head, letting her gaze wander over the landscape with a wistful breath. “The few plants tough enough to survive this blight, anyway.”

She paused, taking in the subtle curves of the garden paths, the stubborn little blooms clinging to life where they could. It wasn’t lush, but it was alive. That mattered more than she expected it to.

Her eyes flicked back to Nymera. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and closed it again with a quiet exhale. Something unspoken flickered across her face—uncertainty, maybe, or restraint.

After another glance around the open space, she caught sight of a quiet seating area nestled beneath a canopy of twisted old trees. “There,” she said softly, inclining her head toward the bench.

The two walked in companionable silence, the rustle of leaves and the faint ringing of Zinna’s bells the only sound between them. When they reached the stone bench, Zinna sank into it slowly, smoothing out her blue and silver skirts with practiced fingers. Her bangles chimed as she adjusted her sleeves, though her motions were restless.

“I…” she began, then faltered. She glanced at Nymera, then down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know where to begin. I know I can’t speak entirely freely. I’ve learned to keep my most passionate opinions behind my teeth.”

She let out a soft, wry breath—equal parts bitterness and sorrow.

“But I don’t want to lose you, too,” she added, her voice quieter now. “Even though I know I will, sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time before the Queen Mother must be... locked away. For safety. For order. For appearances.”

She shook her head, not in disagreement, but in resignation.

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t already been whisked off to some distant keep or enchanted grove,” she said, eyes flicking up with a faint, crooked smile. “Though I’d wager Ba and Edgar have a small army of invisible guardians trailing your every step.”

Her gaze shifted again—not to the flowers or the paths, but to the empty air around them. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she searched for a sign of the unseen. 

She shook her head with a soft, almost bitter chuckle. “Freedom,” she sighed, the word dry on her tongue. “It’s a lovely idea, isn’t it? Shame it’s only ever been an illusion.”

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Nymera walks with Zinna towards the inner courtyard, setting her hand over Zinna's on her arm in a familiar comforting gesture.  

She looks over and smiles at Zinna. "I don't know how secretive you need to be exactly but we are safe in these walls. I remember they explained the details to me when they hired me but magic tends to go right over my head. Though it was made very clear to me that the protections on this place are superb." She chuckles and leans a little closer. "The gardens are usually pretty empty this time of day or we could go to my office. I have an office! Whatever makes you most comfortable."  

 

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When Nymera approached, Zinna’s face lit just slightly—not with her usual full smile, but with something quieter, more familiar. She dipped into a curtsy with practiced ease, and when she rose, her smile came, soft and genuine, though the spark behind it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she said with a breath of a laugh, the words lighter than they might have been for anyone else.

Her gaze flicked around the courtyard—at the students pretending not to watch, the glint of sunlight catching polished stone, the subtle hum of a place always listening. Then her eyes found Nymera’s again, and her posture relaxed a touch as she accepted the offered elbow.

“A walk through the grounds would be wonderful,” she said with quiet warmth, letting her hand settle comfortably at Nymera’s arm like it had many times before.

As they began down the path, the faint jingling of the bells in Zinna’s braid accompanied their steps like a soft memory. She took another look around—more habit than worry—and leaned in just slightly, her voice low and steady.

“We can speak freely here, correct?” she murmured, not quite worried, but careful. “I know there are always eyes and ears watching and listening. I’d rather not risk putting either of us in more danger… especially since I’m not nearly as graceful with my words as Ba or Edgar.”

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King Kalil stood over the war table, his clawed hands resting heavily on its edge. Beside him, Commander Noctis traced defensive lines along the map while Knightmaster Edgar spoke in clipped, firm tones about choke points and fallback options. The trio debated intently—every strategy weighed with the same solemn calculus: lives spared versus ground held.Then came the sound. A scream not of voice, but of the sky itself being ripped open.Sirens wailed. The very air shuddered.A sudden wind hurled itself against the stone walls of Dragon Manor as cerulean rifts burst open above the courtyard. From them poured horrors—winged Fae with glassy eyes, elemental wraiths of fire and ice, and delicate constructs pulsing with ancient magic.Soldiers in the courtyard barely had time to rally. They raised shields and drew blades just as the Fae descended.Kalil didn’t flinch.He turned calmly to his brothers-in-arms. “It’s time.”Noctis and Edgar nodded, as if they’d been waiting for this inevitability. They drew steel with a synchronized hiss.Kalil gestured to a nearby runner. “Send the missive.”The soldier saluted and vanished into the chaos.Kalil turned back to his warbound brethren. He raised one clawed hand, a wolfish grin splitting his face as his eyes burned with warfire. The claws extended like drawn sabers.“Kill them all.”And then—the battle began.Kalil, Noctis, and Edgar like the living embodiment of war-stories, where myth meets blood and steel. Fae and soldier clashed steel-on-steel, while spells burst like stars across the battlefield. Undead forces phased in through shadow and smoke to assault the invaders.From within the manor's grand library, Prince Connor emerged. The alarms wailed around him as soldiers streamed past in frantic motion. He walked with the unhurried grace of a man perusing a garden, using his ornate staff more for posture than support.As he reached the courtyard, a screeching Pixie dove toward him, teeth bared.Without breaking stride, Connor flicked the end of his staff forward. The Pixie burst into dust.There.He moved through the battlefield like mist through trees, effortless and untouched. He sidestepped corpses with a dancer’s poise, keeping his white robes nearly pristine, save for a single crimson bloom that speckled the hem.A roar thundered through the night—raw, primal, furious.Kalil.The King tore through a blue veined Faerie, tearing out her throat with his teeth, blood glistening down his chin. As the corpse fell, Kalil caught sight of Connor, untouched amidst carnage.He smiled.And plunged back into the slaughter.Pixies screamed. Faeries howled. Kalil ripped them apart with claws and teeth, a beast made flesh. Connor followed, dispatching enemies with surgical flicks of his staff, never once hurried.Then, once more, the sky screamed.A massive rift tore open. Time slowed. Silence pressed down.Two figures stepped through.Eryndor—tailored to perfection in a deep red suit that seemed woven from blood and smoke. And Ysmira—her staff humming with coiled, untapped power.They said nothing.Ysmira raised her staff high and brought it down with thunderous finality. A pulse of shimmering energy exploded outward. As it passed through the battlefield, Fae and construct alike crumpled mid-motion. No death cries. No resistance. Just… collapse.A second wave followed. Eryndor lifted one clawed hand—purple with crackling energy—and sent his own ripple through the air. The fallen twitched. Then their eyes opened, blazing red.They stood again.But now, they were his.The battlefield fell deathly still.Kalil, panting, dropped half a dismembered Pixie from his blood-drenched claws. He turned to Eryndor and Ysmira, chest rising with adrenaline and something ancient in his gaze.He laughed—low, almost like a growl—and said, “I knew you were powerful…”Eryndor walked toward him just as Connor stepped beside the King, his white robes still untouched by gore.“Your Majesty. Your Highness,” Eryndor said smoothly, sweeping his claw toward the smoldering ruins of the battlefield. “You called. We answered.”Kalil grinned, spattered in blood and firelight. “I never had any doubt.”Eryndor returned the smile.And the battle was done.

A few minutes pass by and a door opens down the hall. Nymera walks briskly down the hall, nodding to and greeting any students or teachers she passes by. She is wearing a deep green dress that just barely brushes the floor and a gold trimmed apron over that which she is brushing and patting as she walks. Little clouds of flour puff into the air with each pat and she clicks her tongue as she's walking up to Zinna. 

"P-Princess? Zinna. I'm sorry. I don't quite know how I should greet you. Formally? That feels so..." Nymera places her hands clasped in front of her and lets out a soft breath. "How are you? I haven't seen you in months. I've been worried about you." She leans forward slightly and whispers. "I can ask that right? Would you like to walk the grounds?" She holds out her elbow, an invitation. 

The vardo clattered up the east lane of the academy under the weight of late afternoon light. Its blue-painted sides were streaked with road dust, the red shutters slightly sun-faded, and the silver trim around its edges still managed to gleam. Brass bells jingled under the eaves, soft and rhythmic, marking its passage without apology.

Zinna guided the reins with one hand, the other resting on the worn seat beside her. As the courtyard came into view, she clicked her tongue, and the vardo slowed to a stop near the garden wall—technically not a place meant for wagons, but no one rushed out to tell her so. A few students looked up from their benches and scrolls. Some glanced toward her with vague curiosity; others didn’t bother, too engrossed in their studies. 

Zinna rose and stepped down from the seat, her boots landing softly on the stone. Her skirt swayed with the motion—deep blue, with a silver-stitched hem that brushed her ankles. The red blouse she wore caught the sun at the shoulders, and her loose hair slipped forward until she pushed it back with a sigh. A single braid hung behind one ear, lined with soft little bells. Her bangles clinked lightly when she reached up to tug her shawl into place.

Three silver rings glinted on her fingers. She twisted one absently as she looked toward the tall doors. Zinna straightened, adjusted her vest, and walked across the courtyard with purpose. Not fast, not slow—just steady. She caught the scent of paper and herbs drifting from a windowsill, heard the scratch of a chalkboard inside somewhere. It was all quiet and thoughtful, which only made her own jangling nerves feel louder in contrast.

At the front entry, the assistant at the desk looked up with a start. 

“Good afternoon. I’m here to speak with Nymera, if she's available.” Zinna said simply, her voice calm but not cold.

The assistant opened his mouth, paused, then nodded. “Right—yes. I’ll fetch her. If you’ll wait—”“I’ll wait here.”Zinna stepped aside and folded her arms, gazing across the courtyard instead of watching the door. The light hit the vardo just right then—blue and red, silver shining against the stone buildings—and for a moment, it looked like a memory she hadn’t quite left behind.

 

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- Peyote Blayde has commissioned a statue that now sits in the garden outside of his shop in the likeness of Selena with a plaque that says “Beauty of violence personified. Never forget her sacrifices.”- The Orc Village, now known officially as KogThrak, is actually eating any refugee’s they take.- Baroness Charlotte is alive and the Fae sent Ser Fallin a ransom he is refusing to pay.- The Fae are targeting Ariad because of the newly official alliance between Ariad and the Dragon Empire- The Dragon Empire helped with food once. Why aren’t they helping now?- Ariadnian Scouts recovered a wagon earlier this week broken down on a smuggler’s trail. Three young women were found sleeping in the back wrapped in blankets with remnants of severed ropes on the floor. The driver, a traveling merchant known only as “Scratch”, was found a few feet from the wagon impaled upon a tree with the words “WE SEE YOU” carved into his chest. His genitals have not yet been found.

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In the Dalefaer Embassy, 

A few days after retaking Dalefaer, Sir Fallin is issuing orders to his knights from the lobby of the embassy in Foresetidale. Ordering them to areas of the city that may still be hiding potential enemies. Sir Fallin has a map spread out in front of him and he points to each location on the map then gives the order to explore and exterminate. 

A series of gasps and the flood of whispers reach Fallin’s ears and he turns around. His eyes widen.Baroness Charlotte stands just in the threshold of the embassy. Pulling the tattered and bloodied hood from her face, which is also dirty and speckled with blood. She wears a dirty and ruined deep blue cloak, which she quickly sheds. Beneath the cloak are just as bloodied and dirtied clothes.Her eyes land on Fallin and he looks back into her eyes.Without a word, Sir Fallin marches across the lobby and takes a knee in front of Charlotte.“The city is ours again, Baroness.” He says simply.Charlotte smiles and nods. “Thank you, Sir Fallin.”“Ahem.” Someone loudly clears their throat behind them.Baroness Charlotte looks over Sir Fallin to see her Warlord, Sir Shi’Kari. The High Elf is standing with her arms folded across her chest, her feet firmly poised.“Sir Shi’Kari. Greetings.” Charlotte says, adjusting the cloak over her arm.Sir Fallin stands and turns around, then dips his head to his fellow knight.“Where have you been?” Sir Shi’Kari asks, the murmurs begin once more.

“Hiding.” Charlotte says simply. “After Sir Fallin fell in battle, I was outnumbered so I ran. I managed to make it just outside the city when the barrier went up. I fought my way until I found somewhere to hide out. I won’t say where. Just know it was safe enough that I was able to send word to Sir Fallin that I was alive and his orders were to retake the city by whatever means necessary.”

Shi’Kari scoffs. “Whatever means necessary? You realize he took that to the extreme.”

Sir Fallin flinches and Charlotte looks at him. “What is she talking about?”

Sir Fallin meets her gaze. “I worked with Knightmaster Edgar and his death knights to retake the city.”

Charlotte’s eyes widen. “You what?”

 Sir Fallin nods. “I ordered my fellow knights to work with the undead to retake the city.”

Charlotte turns to fully face Fallin. “Sir Fallin… What?”

Shi’Kari smirks. “Yes. He ordered us to work with Undead and now the Knight’s Council has ordered him to stand trial for his treasonous actions.”

Sir Fallin remains standing with his head held high. “I had my orders. I retook the city through whatever means necessary. It worked and many lives were saved by the undead that helped us.”

Murmurs and whispers continue around them. Charlotte looks baffled. “Sir Fallin… I… I thank you for taking back our city.”

Shi’Kari’s jaw drops. “Are you kidding, Baroness? He ordered his fellow knights to work with Undead in order to do it. You understand what that means right?”

Charlotte turns her gaze to Shi’Kari. “I understand that Sir Fallin saw past his own reservations about Undeath in order to save this city and it’s people. I understand he has risked his standing with the knights to save us. I understand that-“

Shi’Kari scowls. “He will stand trial for his betrayal. And he may be labeled an ‘Oathbreaker’ for this, Baroness. And there will be nothing you can do to stop it.”

“Let us speak more in private, Sir Shi’Kari.” Baroness Charlotte says and begins walking across the lobby towards the hall that would lead to her office.

Sir Fallin follows close on her heels and Sir Shi’Kari also turns to follow after the Baroness. The whispers and chatter continue as they walk passed.

Weeks have passed under a strained and uneasy calm. In Volaire proper, the streets swell with desperate motion. Starving citizens wander aimlessly, hollow-eyed and hungry. Many are homeless, displaced from the smoldering remains of their villages. Soldiers—some bearing Ariad’s crest, others Foresetidale’s, and other’s still the Draconian’s- march along the cobblestones, doing what they can to maintain a semblance of order in a city teetering on the edge.

Though the capital breathes, it does so tensely. The peace holds—but only just.

Beyond the city walls, smaller towns continue to fall. The Fae strikes are slower now, more deliberate, creeping ever closer to the heart of Ariad. Yet a glimmer of hope lingers: their forces appear thinned, their ambitions narrowed. Whispers suggest their attention is fixed on one place—Dalefaer.

That cursed city, now silent behind an impenetrable magical barrier, remains the jewel the Fae refuse to relinquish. But questions plague the minds of many. How is the barrier maintained? What unnatural power sustains it? What lies behind it—an army preparing to strike again, or a city already lost, its people puppets of the Fae?

The silence offers no answers.

Then, on a crisp and brilliant morning, Ser Fallin Drakesong emerges from the Foresetidale embassy. A parchment scroll clenched in his gauntleted hand, he strides through the bustling streets, past guards and citizens alike, and enters the tavern.

Conversation falters.

All eyes turn.

He moves to the missive board, unrolls the scroll, and pins it to the wall with solemn precision. Then, turning to face the crowd, his voice rings out, firm and clear.

“Good morning. Many of you know me—I am Knightmaster and Seneschal Ser Fallin Drakesong of Foresetidale. And I call you to arms.”

A ripple runs through the tavern.

“In three days, I will unlock the portal housed within the embassy. Through it, we will march—into Dalefaer itself. We will flood the streets, strike down the Fae, and take back our home!”
He raises his fist, the glint of steel catching the morning light. Soldiers shift in their seats. Some rise. Murmurs stir like wind before a storm.

“Those who would stand with us, come to the embassy. Have your arms and armor inspected. Take your rations. Prepare yourselves. We retake our city—or we die trying.”

A heavy silence follows, broken only by the clink of metal and shallow breaths. Fallin surveys the room one final time, then nods and departs without another word.

The moment he’s gone, the tavern erupts. Some rush to read the posted missive. Others lean in close, voices low and urgent. Could this truly work? Could they breach the barrier? Could they reclaim Dalefaer?

Or was this nothing more than a fool’s charge—a final, desperate act by a man with nothing left to lose?

As the sun dips behind the distant hills, the debates still rage. Some rise from their drinks and make for the embassy. Others remain, scoffing into their cups, convinced the Knightmaster will be leading his men to their graves.

The missive reads:

To all citizens of Ariad,

The loss of Dalefaer and its people was a deep wound to Forsetidale—and to all who call Ariad home. But we will not let the Fae keep what is ours.
In three days, the portal within the embassy shall open, and we will strike. We will breach the barrier. We will take back our city.

All willing to join the effort may report to the embassy for inspection and provisioning. Rations will be provided, and when Dalefaer is ours again, those who fight shall be rewarded.

Stand with us. Fight with us. Reclaim our home.

Ser Fallin Drakesong
 

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Katalina watches as Edgar passes out the bundles and when he's finished, she turns to him. "Thank you, Sir Edgar. I cannot express what it means to have your assistance." She steps up beside him. "Please, allow me to accompany you as I wish to get more information from the Princess." She looks back to Jade. "I shall report back my findings, Baroness. Safe travels."

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