15-8-2025: A Fire Survived, A Soul Reclaimed

The party stood in silence, eyes locked on the fiery abomination before them. It was massive—feminine in form, with wings made of flame and a body forged from molten lava, held together by jagged bones. A chain mace burned in her searing grip. The heat in the room was unbearable, scorching their skin and drying the blood on their armor. As she turned to face them, her voice rang out—and she spoke to Mind directly.   Mephisto, she said, would be pleased to have him.   Mind's heart sank. The name alone stirred fear. He had traveled through the Nine Hells once before and it had been a harrowing experience. His grandfather, Thought, had only narrowly escaped the clutches of Mephisto himself. This wasn’t a fight they could walk away from.   No one would be taken. Not Mind. Not Zharrus. Not anyone.   Mae struck first, lightning crackling across the Devil’s body—but it did little. Aerith raised her Wand of Fear, trying to force it back, but the Devil batted the spell away with a swing of her chain mace. Desperate, Aerith shouted for someone to get Zharrus out—he wouldn’t survive another hit. Panic was rising, but Jaina steadied her stance, loosed three arrows at once, and every one found its mark.   The Devil retaliated. A sphere of molten lava erupted toward Mae and Aerith, transforming the floor into a bubbling pool of fire beneath them. Leo rushed the Devil. Mind, seeking to distract it, cast a minor illusion of himself opening a portal. The ruse worked—the Devil struck the illusion with her mace, wasting an attack.   But she recovered fast.   In a blur of motion, the chain mace crashed into Leo, the heat branding his handsome face with a searing mark. Serosh carried Gotrick into position. The dwarf raised his book and cast Vow of Enmity, cursing the hell spawn—but his hammer missed. Leo followed up with a precise strike, and Mae joined in with Magic Missile. Meanwhile, Serosh managed to reach Zharrus, gently lifting him onto his back and retreating from the fray.   Jaina’s arrows narrowly missed. Leo’s next strike, empowered by divine energy, struck true. The Devil struck back. Her mace smashed the ground behind Leo and Gotrick, both of them falling to the ground like dolls. Gasps echoed through the group.   Then, she vanished. She melted into the lava, only to reappear moments later above Mae, Aerith, and Jaina. Serosh, still carrying Zharrus, moved toward Gotrick and stood over him protectively. Mae, burned all over her body by the heat inside of her armor, rushed to Gotrick’s side and poured a healing potion into his mouth, just enough to get him moving again. Mind, with a toss of his arm, let Hugin fly in front of the Devil to distract it again. The raven flapped and screeched, shouting the only word it could remember: “Demon! Demon!” It was enough—the Devil’s attention snapped toward the sound. Because Mae hit her with another blast of lightning. This time, the spell scorched deeper. Aerith, her face covered in ash and burns, limped out of the lava and fired an Eldritch Blast. Jaina’s cloak had been blown away from the heat, but her scimitars found their mark, slicing into the Devil’s legs.   But the Devil would not go down easily. With a roar, she slammed her mace upward into Jaina’s chest, lifting her from the ground. Jaina somehow got to her feet again, breathless but still alive. Mind, nearly out of options, pulled from his Spider Staff and cast Web—wrapping the Devil’s flaming wings in sticky arcane silk. The staff, damaged and flickering, somehow held. But he couldn’t dodge the chain that came next—it slammed into his ribs, tearing his cape and knocking him back.   The Devil turned toward him. She began to hover—her wings burning away the webbing, while Hugin was angrily pecking at her feet. Lava trailed in her wake. Jaina's scimitars flashed in the firelight. Still, it wasn’t enough. The Devil surged forward and struck Mind down, sending him crashing to the ash-covered floor.   From the Bag of Holding, Gotrick passed a potion to Leo. With a grunt, the rogue got back up. Gotrick, battered and burned, took his place beside Aerith and hurled his axes—both of them striking true. The Devil, enraged, conjured another sphere of molten lava and hurled it into them. Gotrick fell again. Aerith crawled away, barely breathing. Mae rushed to Gotrick's side, dragging him out of the lava, her hands blistering on his armor.   Then Aerith rose. Her hands shook, her eyes burned with fury. She looked the Devil in the eye, summoned every last shred of magic she had, and fired two Eldritch Blasts straight into its eyes.   The creature let out a scream—inhuman, deafening, full of torment. Its body twisted. Shifted.   The flames flickered and dimmed. Its form shrank, reforming back into that of a Tiefling—the same Tiefling that had been tortured before. It looked at them as it sank away in the lava.   There was no time to process what had just happened. The room began to quake. Cracks opened in the walls. Stones fell. The chamber was collapsing. Gotrick scrambled onto Serosh’s back, holding Zharrus tightly. He sprinted toward Jaina and healed her. Leo reached Mind and got him back on his feet. Together, the party fled—racing through the war-torn halls back toward the Warforged guard chamber.   The guards were already buried in rubble. They looked up and above them, the building itself was crumbling. The exit—the one Illian had told them about—was their only chance. With the last of their strength, dodging falling debris, catching each other when they stumbled, they made it out. Behind them, the building collapsed in a storm of stone and dust. They realised how much knowledge and evil had been lost.   On the streets, Warforged hesitated. They watched the crumbling structure, unsure whether to pursue the group or rejoin the chaos unfolding elsewhere. The sounds of battle echoed from Illumé’s Sanctuary. Aegaelion’s distraction was still in full effect.   The group took their chance and ran. And they didn’t stop until they reached the only place that might still be safe. The Celebren mansion.   Back at the Celebren mansion, the door opened to a trio of familiar faces: Lorice, Seline, and Gordon—all looking shaken at the sight of the battered group returning home. Aegaelion and Cole were nowhere to be seen, and while that worried some of them, others found themselves questioning Aegaelion’s true intentions.   Gotrick demanded answers from the three remaining residents of House Celebren—what was happening in Illumé’s Sanctuary? But no one knew. They had only heard whispers of Lord Aegaelion preparing a massive distraction there. Gordon helped Leo and Gotrick inside, muttering that he had never seen anyone look this bad before. They all admitted the day had been brutal, but despite the wounds, they agreed it had been worth it.   Seline moved through the group quietly, tending to injuries. They asked after Alban Farrow. Lorice explained he was likely still trapped at customs—no one was being let out during the lockdown. Jaina, confident as ever, shrugged it off. If Alban had been caught in something, he’d handle it. Aerith requested Seline examine Zharrus. Serosh was already carrying him gently up the stairs, laying him in Aerith’s bed.   Downstairs, the rest of the group collapsed wherever they could—sofas, chairs, floor cushions. They needed rest, even if just for a moment. In Aerith’s room, she sat by Zharrus, watching him anxiously. When Mind and Seline entered, Seline confirmed he was stable but malnourished, feverish, and deeply exhausted. There was no telling when he’d wake, but rest and food would help. Mind examined him with magic—no curses, but something was wrong. His arcane balance was off, likely the result of the soul-binding ritual. Aerith nodded, quietly thanking them.   Back downstairs, everyone slowly found their rhythm again. Mind mended his robes, thinking to himself that he really should get new ones. Mae and Gotrick spoke in hushed tones, discussing something. Mae and Serosh later left for Illumé’s Sanctuary to investigate—but they didn’t make it far. The gates were closed. The streets were empty. Warforged stood atop the walls, hurling projectiles at unseen threats. The noise of ballistae echoed through the city, but not the clash of swords. Whatever was happening inside, it wasn’t a normal battle.   They returned to the mansion. Mae’s expression said enough. She explained what she saw and this left the group feeling more confused as to what was happening in that district. Serosh, still in horse form, asked to become a lion again. Gotrick obliged.   With wounds treated and heads clearing, the group gathered to plan. Aerith led with conviction: once Zharrus had recovered, they were leaving Illumé and bringing him to the Keep of Adamant. Leo reminded them of the Tacton plan. Mind agreed—they still had work to do before they could leave. Durgle couldn’t physically leave this city, and Tacton might hold answers they didn’t yet understand.   They would lay low. Lorice would arrange a fake ID for Zharrus. Mae raised concerns about Illian, but Jaina was firm—he was misled by Fae, and now the truth was known. Mind and Gotrick both added that if anyone questioned their presence, they’d simply say they had been searching for Fae—because it was true.   Seline promised to keep watch, and they all agreed to try and get a full night’s sleep. Jaina curled up by the fireplace with Mae beside her. Gotrick lay against Serosh's soft fur nearby Cole's smoking window. Leo, Mind, and Aerith, (on Aegaelion's regular chair) settled onto sofas and chairs. Sleep came quickly. But not for long.   Seline shook them awake. Her expression was grave. Meliana and Illian Quoronriel were at the gates outside—with twenty-six guards in tow. Skepticism rippled through the group. Were they here to accuse, arrest, or worse? But Mae and Jaina remained composed. Mae opened the door slightly, as the sound of knocking came, her tone light and tired.   But she noticed a change in Meliana who had always been so composed. Meliana had been crying. Her makeup ran down her cheeks, and her hair was a mess. Illian didn’t meet their eyes. He looked broken. Meliana informed Mae she had horrible news. They were let inside, including their guards.   Meliana brought a Gnome who cast Zone of Truth, and explained she had questions and they could ask her and Illian questions. Everyone stepped into the glowing circle.   The first question came; when had they first met Aegaelion? The answer was clear and of course unanimous —on the day they arrived in Illumé.   Mind asked the next; what was the horrible news about? Then came the blow: after the illusion of the Light Celenthir appeared in the sky, demons had invaded Illumé’s Sanctuary. Almost all resources had been poured into defending it. The Luminous Concord… was gone. Every lord and lady. Meliana's voice broke as she explained that their father, Lord Illion Quoronriel had passed as well.   And Aegaelion. And Cole.   Shock hit the group like a second collapse. Aerith, Jaina, and Mae were sputtering. It couldn’t be true. Mind, Leo and Gotrick looked down towards the floor in silence.   Meliana continued. She asked what Aegaelion had truly planned to ask Lord Quoronriel during the meeting and if anyone knew that he was going to propose this. But no one knew. He’d never shared it with them.   Mae asked how Meliana knew for certain that everyone had been killed. Meliana’s voice broke again—she had seen the bodies herself. Including Aegaelion’s and Cole’s.   She asked why Lady Aenysiel had sent Aegaelion. Aerith confirmed: he had come with three goals—one personal, one for the Lady, and one for the Order.   Then came her question—why had Aegaelion helped them? Aerith chose her words carefully. They were searching for a friend. It was vague, but true. Meliana accepted the answer.   She asked what the group was up to this day and Mind directed the question to Illian.   Pushed forward by Meliana accompanied by a stern expression, Illian retold it all. He had commisioned a prototype Warforged to protect Fae, just like the one in the Arena. But when they entered the chamber, she had killed everyone. He only survived thanks to the Order. Somehow, Fae had summoned projections of the legendary weapons—Razor and Wave—despite one being locked in a vault she shouldn't have access to and the other hidden somewhere in the Cygnia Kingdom. She had pushed the party back, channeled a dark mist into the Warforged's core, like it was inhabiting it, she fused with it… and vanished.   Some of the group slightly softened toward him as Illian was truly grateful for them. He had been manipulated from the beginning and was blinded by love.   Gotrick expressed sympathy for both siblings—but asked again: did no one know? Meliana admitted she didn’t even know Fae could use magic and Illian of course, was shaking his head in embarrasment.   Meliana had what she came for. When Leo asked what would happen next for her and for Illumé, she answered—Illian was to take over, but he immediatly stated that he didn’t want to. He believed Meliana should lead. Meliana was stunned by his cowardice. She wasn’t ready—but the group supported her. She had the strength and wit. When the time came, she would lead Illumé forward as head of House Quoronriel.   Before leaving, Illian handed Mae a bag of platinum pieces—a reward for saving his life. Without another word, he turned and walked away.   As the Quoronriel siblings and their guards departed, the group remained in stunned silence. Aerith spoke first, questioning how Aegaelion and Cole could be gone. It didn’t make sense. Jaina agreed that Cole was invaluable to the Lady and Aegaelion had a life ahead of him, with him being engaged to someone. Mae was thinking hard as she looked at the bag of platinum in her hands, barely believing the outcome of it all. Mind, Gotrick and Leo shared a look. They didn’t believe they were dead—but kept their thoughts quiet.   One by one, they went to bed. Nothing more to say. But as they did, Aerith heard something. A voice—familiar—called to her alone. It asked her to come to the roof, without her staff. She obeyed.   It was extremely quiet here, a soft breeze blowing in the wind. The moon was out with the occasional cloud covering it every now and then. Once the moon came out, its light made a figure appear.   Aegaelion and he was holding out his arms and Aerith carefully stepped forward. Her fingers brushed against his skin, he was real and alive.   She blinked, breathless. Meliana had told her he was dead. She had seen his body and Cole’s. But Aegaelion only smiled softly and said that Cole had many talents—including faking bodies. That way, it would appear that House Celebren had suffered just like the others. Aerith stammered—demons in the Sanctuary, the death of all the noble Houses, the Light Celenthir appearing in the sky…   Aegaelion stepped closer. His eyes scanned her face—still streaked with ash and blood. Gently, he reached out and touched her cheek. She had had a rough day as well.   Then he opened his hand. Resting in his palm was the real Light Celenthir. A ball of darkness incapsuled, with just two shimmering lights escaping it. No illusion. No spell. Its light was tangible—pulsing with a sacred glow. Aerith thought of Mind. He had been suspicious as soon as they had seen the illusion in the sky. And he’d been right. Aegaelion—maybe even Lady Aenysiel—had wanted him to steal it.   Aegaelion confirmed her fears. The Light Celenthir was meant to free someone. His father. The name dropped like stone into still water. Vel’Gon. The shadow beast of endless night. The god of despair, ruin, and death. Aerith's patron.   And Aegaelion’s mother? Lady Aenysiel.   Aerith shook her head. Her patron—the being she had long called The Keeper—was Vel’Gon. Aegaelion questioned why she had never figured it out before, but she had never questioned it. Never connected the pieces. Why would she? The powers had helped her accomplish her goals. It had felt sacred. Private. Something not to be questioned. But then again, why not question it all? Feeling foolish, she looked at her feet.   Wouldn't she want her patron to be free as well? She hesitated. First, she said no. Then, quietly… yes. She didn’t know.   The Light Celenthir wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning. The world of Ludinhwell, he explained, was out of balance. Some of the Creators remained imprisoned, others did not. That imbalance was fracturing the world. His plan was simple—bring all the gods back, cleanse the world, and banish them afterward. Even his own father.   He reminded her of the questions he’d asked just days ago. What if someone told you that burning down a city could save the world from tyranny? She hadn’t understood them then—but could never have imagined them to this scale. This was Aegaelion's mission and his alone. No one else knew. Not the Lady, not Vel’Gon and not even Cole. Aerith had assumed Cole was his confidant, a friend. But no—Cole was loyal only to Lady Aenysiel. Always had been. They were colleagues. Nothing more.   Aegaelion gave Aerith permission to tell her friends what she had learned—but only under one condition: she must never speak of it near her staff. Because the gem embedded within it was always listening.   Vel’Gon was always listening.   She nodded, her mind reeling. Then, Aegaelion suddenly showed his ring—white gold, set with a citrine gem. She recognized it. He’d fidgeted with it often, especially when he seemed nervous.   He reached for her hand. On her finger was a black, thin, ornate ring set with a red gem—Vel’Gon’s gift. Aegaelion’s was from Lady Aenysiel. They were the ones that were engaged.   She stared at him, stunned. He admitted that the arranged marriage had once seemed absurd. But over time, he had come to understand it. They shared values. Ways of thinking. They had more in common than he’d expected. Aerith agreed out loud that they were… compatible. But why her? He smiled, his parents had found her worthy.   Then came another question—why help her save Zharrus? Because, he said simply, she deserved happiness. And she deserved to be well. Aerith’s voice dropped. It would have never happened without him. Aegaelion placed his hand gently over hers.   Would she accept the proposal? He would understand either answer. She asked for time—to process everything. She promised to let him know soon. Then, she asked her own question: when would she see him again? What was his next move?   They could speak through their rings, he told her—but only if her staff was out of reach. Vel’Gon listens.   Aegaelion was heading south. Not toward the Water Celenthir in the Cygnia Kingdom, as Aerith guessed—but even farther.   It was time for him to go. Before he left, he asked one last thing—if he could hold her. Aerith hesitated. And then kissed him instead. As clouds drifted across the moon, casting shifting shadows over the rooftops, Aegaelion disappeared in the faintness of the moonlight.   Downstairs, the others slept soundly—Jaina with her hand resting gently on her necklace were Kiwi was held, Mae curled near the fire having difficulty removing the image of her sister in her mind, Gotrick seated against Serosh’s side snorring softly. Mind, ever vigilant, mumbled arcane theories even in sleep. Leo, one hand still resting on the hilt of his weapon, hadn’t let himself fully relax. Aerith on the sofa watching Zharrus, who lay peacefully in her bed, as sleep finally took her. None of them knew what tomorrow would bring.   But they knew one thing: they had survived this battle and there were many more to come. Atleast, everyone had made it out alive.   And for now, that was enough.