(Written in Sylvan, the handwriting beautiful but faint, on a beautiful sheet of paper.)
It is late, and I have no strength left to write with my left hand—or in the script of the Shal’Azurans. Everything feels exhausting. Only Alizée’s hospitality keeps me together tonight. The guestroom is refined, as expected—very comfortable—and I am curious about this “bed” and the sleeping thing it is meant for… But first, a few lines about what has passed:
Hadibi led us through the city, all the way to the border of Dibarra’s Tower. There we walked a narrow, emotional path through the garden toward its door—a balance between awe and dread. We tried many things, until Aura offered her hair ribbon as a sacrifice, and it opened the way for us. Inside, we learned of a tale—the Seven Weavers of Twilight. Aura operated the lift and carried us straight to Dibarra’s floor, where we were greeted by wooden and stone guardians.
The battle was fierce, but nothing that could bring one of us down. Alizée, in her youthful boldness, leapt straight into the center, surrounding herself with traps and foes alike. Her entrance was nothing short of spectacular—two of the guardians went flying across the chamber. We came to her aid, and after a brief struggle, the fight was done… and, naturally, came the looting.