The dinner party

by Luke Thomas

Dear Diary,

The 3rd of Mannan began with the most polite form of torture: a dinner party with Elsa and her fiancé, Tholian Andilot. Yes, that Elsa. Yes, that fiancé.

We brought our partners — I with Lumiria, Gael with Dynia — and were escorted to Tholian’s estate: a sprawling riverside mansion in the Silver District, all polished marble and tasteful wealth. It felt expensive in the way new money always does — like it was trying to prove something.

Elsa greeted us, radiant and composed, introducing Tholian with a warm smile. She seemed… genuinely pleased. I had told Lumiria in advance that Elsa and I grew up together, but not that I'd once been hopelessly smitten.

I returned the favor, introducing Lumiria with a gentle touch of her hand and a glance I hoped said: Yes, I’ve moved on.

Tholian… Tholian was courteous, poised, and altogether forgettable. A merchant noble, from a rich family with no knights, no mages, no lineage of great deeds — only trade. Their wealth is new, and they keep to themselves. He admitted their engagement is political. A match of mutual convenience, not passion. Still, Elsa spoke of him with fondness, and he her, and though I wanted to hate him… I didn’t. I just didn’t trust him.

He asked if either of the de la Roost siblings were available for marriage, as he still had unmatched siblings. They both declined. Alistan stiffened visibly. I suspect he found Tholian’s casual market-logic about marriage as distasteful as I did.

Before we left, he offered to help us — “friends of Elsa” — with financial concerns, should we need it. We declined.

That evening, Anna gave me a scroll — Burning Rain. She’d received it from a strange woman on the road, who handed it over when Anna mentioned she was coming to study with me. Ominous? Possibly. But it was exactly the spell I needed to further my studies. The runes it described held the key puzzle pieces to further unlock the power of my staff.

The next day, I assigned one of my library assistants to study the runes on my staff in light of the new knowledge gained from the Burning Rains spell. After a few days, they confirmed my suspicions — the magic draws from a crystal fragment tied to the Elemental Plane of Fire. If I’m to understand it fully, I’ll need another item similarly infused with that plane’s essence.

While they studied, I began my own research into the Tower of Air. Its Heart lies within a floating temple, once guarded by aerial beasts: wyverns, griffons, and dragonnels. It follows a fixed orbit around Keralon, which could help us plan our approach.

I spent hours each day training Anna. She is sharp, eager, and entirely too reckless. I’ve already caught her twice trying to mimic spells far beyond her level. If she keeps this up, she’s going to blow up half the keep. And always Lumiria found every excuse to linger in the room. Drawing, reading, pretending to be absorbed while keeping a watchful eye on us. I didn’t mind. Her presence steadied me, even if it sent Anna into quiet, flustered confusion now and then.

In the evenings, I took Lumiria around the city. She saw everything with childlike wonder, but always with a touch of sadness in her smile: like the city was beautiful, but not hers.

One week later, we gathered once more to seek out answers.

Our first stop: Mortimer, the necromancer at the Academy. His office was precisely what I expected — a grand black door adorned with carved skulls, but inside: pristine order. Not a single speck of dust.

He greeted us softly. He looked like a scholar, not a death-mage: black robes without embellishment, silver hair in a ponytail, delicate spectacles perched on his nose. We asked him about Galienne’s curse as he had indicated that he might hold the answer we seek. He believes the curse, which was never meant for dragons, doesn’t know what to do with her. The magic, alive in its own way, is confused, tangled with her essence. He said it was like trying to pour poison into a flame and expecting it to behave.

But he also offered a solution. “I could transfer her essence into a receptacle,” he said. “Take the curse with it. She would be freed. But she’d no longer be a dragon.” It was just a suggestion. But he warned us — the longer we wait, the harder it becomes.

Afterward, we headed to the Mausoleum District, a stone haven for the rich and dead. Somber silence clung to the marble like mist. We passed Donovan’s grave. Alistan stood in still silence for several minutes, hand resting on the old knight’s sarcophagus. His shield was laid reverently against the carved image of his resting form.

Dadroz led us deeper, underneath the Temple of Belenus. According to his order’s records, King Ker Allres II, the first king of Keralon, was buried there. We descended into the undercrypt, following directions that led us to… a wall.

But there had been a passage, once. Alistan and Dadroz found the signs — ancient brickwork, the faintest grooves. Liliana summoned a warhammer, and Gael cast Silence. For thirty minutes, she shattered stone until we had a hole.

Inside, we found dust and time. No insects. No sounds. Only forgotten echoes. A door greeted us next; triple keyholes, carved with the name: Ker Allres II. The man who took Keralon from the Empire.

We left that one sealed — for now. Another door bore flames, and the name: Cas Raal

Dadroz found a fire trap, but deftly disabled it. Inside was wreckage. All broken — save for a single candle, still burning. Further in, another door held a riddle: “Lighter than a feather, rises in water.” The answer was air, but Dadroz simply picked the lock. Typical.

Inside was a crater with a pile of ash. No furnishings. Nothing living. Then Gael, on a hunch, blew out the candle from the other room. Suddenly: hay and wood appeared atop the ash pile as if by magic. Hayley lit the pyre.

From the flames, two demons stepped out.

Of course.

P.S. I still don’t trust Tholian. He may be harmless. But Elsa deserves better. And selfish as it sounds — part of me wishes it had been me. But I can’t think that way anymore. I have Lumiria now. And she is mine, while I am hers.

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The dinner party

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