30-8-2025: The Roads Between Gods and Candy

One by one, the party stirred awake within the safety of the Celebren mansion. Jaina was the first to be roused—Kiwi bouncing on her chest in a flurry of worried energy. The last thing he had seen was Faerah blasting her with magic before being tucked away into the Pendant of Safe Haven. From that moment on, he would not leave her side.   Elsewhere, Aerith rose slowly. The events of the night before were still sinking in. She had hidden her staff away inside a closet, just as Aegaelion had warned her. In her room, a bowl of warm soup rested on the nightstand beside Zharrus, who still slept soundly. She fed him carefully, every motion gentle.   Downstairs, Mind was already awake, speaking with Lorice. She informed him that Alban Farrow was expected to arrive at the mansion shortly. Gotrick, seated with his ink and paper, was writing to Durgle Shimmerforge—reminding him of his promise to visit and examine the construct. With a small smirk, he attached a sour mat to the letter. Once ready, the scroll was tucked into the carrying tube on Barric’s back, and with a formal little bow, the pidgeon soared out the window.   Soon, Aerith called the group together. She needed to speak. Everyone agreed. They gathered in Mind’s room. Mae made sure to grab coffee. Jaina sealed the keyhole with cloth so no one could peek through it. Paranoia had crept into all of them by now—there was no telling who could be trusted in the mansion anymore. To be sure they weren’t overheard, Jaina cast Rope Trick, climbing into the pocket dimension for complete privacy. Cramped, yes—but familiar.   There, Aerith revealed everything that had happened the night before. That Aegaelion was alive. That he had faked his and Cole's death. That he had stolen the Light Celenthir and that the demons in the Sanctuary had been summoned by him. That Lady Aenysiel was his mother—and Vel’Gon, the god of despair, his father. And finally, that Aerith had been his betrothed all along.   A heavy silence followed. Mind shook his head throughout, increasingly frustrated. Jaina and Mae—despite their surprise—offered Aerith congratulations. Leo and Gotrick simply stared, stunned. But Mind couldn’t hold back. Aegaelion’s plan to release all the Zaligon gods? It was too dangerous and risky. What would become of the world if he succeeded?   Jaina agreed. If the Aezaezias gods might not stand for it, could it lead to another God War? They turned to Leo, but he remained reserved. The plan was risky, but he had no certainty to offer.   Gotrick admitted he was still trying to wrap his head around it. But Mae... Mae saw the shape of something deeper and she agreed with Aerith on some points. Because Aerith's thought had been stirring ever since that moment on the rooftop.   She offered a thought: if light must exist, so too must shadow. Vel’Gon was feared, yes—but once, he had been considered necessary. He had ruled over the Abyss but never unleashed it during the God War. Perhaps he had always understood balance better than anyone else. And besides, if the Celenthirs were falling into dangerous hands—like Hagmar’s, who had aligned with a black dragon in an effort to release Darric—wasn't Aegaelion the only one equipped to protect them?   But Mind cut her off. Trust had already been broken once, since he had lied to them before. How could Aerith be sure Aegaelion wouldn’t betray them again? Aerith held her ground. She believed in him and she promised them she would talk more with him whenever she had the chance.   Jaina was still on Mind's side, but she understood Aerith’s conviction. The world needed balance. But was this the way?   Their discussion turned toward next steps. After meeting with Durgle and Alban, they would resume their investigation into Hagmar’s pursuit of the Shards of Anar and meet up with Ieghi. Jaina sent a message to Ieghi, hoping for news.   Then, Mae spoke. Quietly, coffee in hand, she told them she was stepping away. She knew finding her sister might not be possible—not with everything else the group was now facing. She was grateful for what they had done to help. But it was time to follow her own path.   There was a long pause. The group was saddened, but no one tried to stop her. They understood. She would stay in Illumé for now, perhaps speak more with Illian Quoronriel. The others promised to share any leads they found. Mae nodded, tear in her eye but a smile on her lips afterwards.   There was a knock on the door. Everyone turned to Mind, who sighed and awkwardly clambered down from the Rope Trick. He opened the door and Lorice stood there. Alban Farrow had arrived at the mansion.     Descending the stairs, the group found Alban deep in conversation with Selene, animatedly explaining the intricacies of Golem-making at a pace far too rapid for comfort. His words tumbled out in a caffeine-fueled whirlwind, made worse by the fact that his tiny sable body was still clutching a nearly empty jug of coffee. Selene looked politely overwhelmed. Standing beside him was someone new.   A tall Wood Elf with a long, brown-gray beard and his hair tied back in a tidy bun. He looked around the Celebren mansion with quiet amusement, sipping chamomile tea as if he’d just stepped into an old friend’s home. The group introduced themselves, and Gotrick gently plucked the coffee jug from Alban’s paws in the hopes of slowing him down.   The newcomer introduced himself as Professor Hollister, a Transmutation specialist. His eyes lit up the moment he noticed Kiwi. He turned to Jaina with genuine curiosity, asking how in all of Ludinhwel she’d come into possession of a Blessling.   Flustered but honest, Jaina explained the Harvest Festival in Cyrill, and how she had won Kiwi when he was still an egg. Hollister, seemingly delighted by this, pulled out a small notebook from nowhere and jotted it down—aloud—declaring that he absolutely must visit Cyrill himself to try and find a Blessling of his own.   Once the chatter settled, Mind laid out the plan again for Alban: they would recreate the Keep of Adamant’s workshop using Major Image so that Durgle could examine it. Hollister, content to be somewhere outside his study for once—and honored to be in House Celebren—offered to stay behind and enjoy the change of scenery. The group shrugged at this, he was welcome to stay for now. With the plan laid out, all that remained was Durgle’s arrival.   Aerith took the lull in activity to do something she'd been meaning to for days. She returned upstairs, making her way to the room next to hers—Aegaelion’s room. To her surprise, it wasn’t locked. She stepped inside.   It was exactly what she expected—clean, organized, meticulous. The nightstands were empty. The bed, perfectly made. Her gaze drifted to the desk. Neatly stacked notes covered the surface, most of them dedicated to the noble families of Illumé. Their names, their bloodlines, their secrets. Aegaelion had done his homework. He seemed to know everything about the players in this city.   Aerith wasn’t looking for evidence or answers. She was looking for something of him. Something to hold onto. Then she remembered the whisky glass. The one he always held during late-night talks by the fire. Selene fetched it for her without question. Aerith accepted it silently, her fingers curling around it.   Durgle arrived later that afternoon. The first thing he did upon stepping inside was march up to Gotrick and exclaimed how impressed he was about the sour mat that had been attached to the letter. Leo assured him that Gordon could prepare another batch and left immediately to arrange it.   Introductions followed. When Durgle was told that Alban Farrow was the sable at the center of the room, it took him a moment to recover. Alban—still bouncing on caffeine—explained with manic glee that life was simply more enjoyable in this form. Durgle turned to Mae and, with the most Durgle-like response imaginable, asked her to slap him in the face to make sure this was real. It was.   With pleasantries concluded, the group gathered once again in Mind’s room. Jaina performed her familiar cloth-over-the-keyhole trick, and Mind began rearranging the room to create space. He casted Major Image, slowly reconstructing the Keep of Adamant’s lab—every table, tool, and blueprint brought to life in illusory detail.   As soon as the illusion of the Keep of Adamant’s lab was complete, all eyes turned to Durgle. Without hesitation, the gnome walked up to the replicated image of Tacton and began his examination. He moved around the projected construct slowly, carefully, muttering to himself as he looked it over from every angle. After a few moments, he stepped back with a low whistle.   This was no ordinary Warforged.   He said as much, remarking that this one was older—and clearly more advanced—than anything he’d ever worked on. The soul gem embedded in its core was significantly larger than the ones used in modern Warforged, and even Alban and Drajag’s attempts at mending it had been well-considered. But most importantly were the layers of enchantment cast on the Warforged. It was of a level unimageinable to Durgle. He could only think of one man capable of such enchantments and it was no other than his great-great-grandfater, inventor of the Warforged, Fenwickle Shimmerforge. And then, it hit him. He blinked once. Twice. They were looking at the projection of the legendary Tacton.   Durgle turned slowly to the group, now understanding why they had been so secretive about the construct. What they had found wasn’t just rare—it was unprecedented. A relic. Possibly the first of its kind.   He nodded to himself. He definitely should report this. But he wouldn’t.   He had made a promise—and he wasn’t going to break it.   Curious, Durgle asked where the group had found Tacton. They explained: near the mountain range close to Arsica, during the chaos of a Mind Flayer attack on a Skaven facility. Durgle raised a brow. Was it the Mind Flayer that had attacked Illumé?   Mind’s reply came instantly, too quickly: “No.” Then he paused. “Maybe. We don’t know.” Aerith, not missing a beat, followed up smoothly: “Could’ve been anyone, really.”   Durgle moved on, completely unfazed, while Mind and Aerith shared a sideways glance that screamed: saved it.   The subject changed. Durgle expressed doubt about the idea of bringing Tacton into Illumé. The group immediately agreed—after everything that had happened here, there was no way they were going to risk that. Aerith added that she was starting to feel like they had overstayed their welcome at House Celebren. Gotrick pointed out the obvious problem—Durgle couldn’t leave the city, not with the Shimmerforge curse binding him to it.   Durgle sighed, rubbing his forehead, and began muttering aloud. There was someone who might be able to help. Meliana Quoronriel. After all, she was now the head of the Houses. The group agreed and sent Barric off again with another message.   It wasn’t long before Meliana arrived. She entered with a tired grace and promptly dropped into one of the armchairs near the hearth. As she stared into the flames, the group got the distinct sense that she was letting her guard down more and more around them. Clearly done with the facade.   Leo gently asked if she’d managed to sleep since the day before. She admitted she hadn’t. Her time had been filled with meetings, scrambling to manage the future of Illumé, and trying to make sense of everything that had been lost. Sitting there, in that chair, she looked like someone who had finally found a moment to breathe.   Jaina asked after Illian and how he was holding up.   Meliana squinted, considering the question. He was showing more initiative, she said, and had begun looking into the identity of the dark wizard who had taken hold of Faerah. Mae straightened in her seat, instantly alert. Did he find anything?   Meliana nodded slowly. The wizard, she said, appeared to be related to Keraptis—a figure long believed to be extinct. He had been active before the first God Wars. Once, it was thought his bloodline had died out. He had wielded three legendary weapons. The group had already guessed at two: Razor and Wave. Whelm was the third legendary weapon, but did not make its appearance during the fight.   During Keraptis's lifetime, he had only one goal; eternal life.   Aerith immediately wondered aloud—was that why he merged with a Warforged? Constructs technically can't die nor did they age. It would make sense. Meliana shrugged. She didn’t have the answers. But if Keraptis’s bloodline truly lived on, and had found a way to fuse with Warforged... then the threat might be far greater than any of them had feared.   Meliana had more to say.   After everything that had transpired—the battle, the loss of the Houses and now the slow, painful attempt at rebuilding Illumé—she had been reaching out. In her efforts to stabilize the city, she had spoken with several figures from beyond its walls. Among them: Fendan and Lothric. Meliana asked if the group would consider returning to them—perhaps offering aid to the Cygnia Kingdom, should they request it. She suspected they might ask the Order to help locate and protect the Water Celenthir.   But Mind had another focus. He told her politely that they had already been planning on their next move—to pursue the Shards of Anar. What was Illumé doing to stop Hagmer and the Black Dragon he had allied with?   Meliana nodded and explained: they had already sent one of Illumé’s most trusted allies. Sidraxx, a platinum dragon and ally to Illumé, had departed just hours before the demon invasion of the Sanctuary began. His mission: confront the Black Dragon if found.   Some of the group were wondering whether Aegaelion had planned everything down to the hour.   The Order asked where the platinum dragon had gone. Meliana shrugged again—somewhere in the Paeri Woods, to keep guard in a city, but she didn’t know which one.   She then turned to a more practical matter: their future in Illumé. Though she was asking them to leave the city for now, she also wanted them to feel welcome whenever they returned. To that end, she had arranged for special passes—ones that would grant them entry to every district in Illumé, bypassing many of the delays and obstacles of normal customs. A gesture of trust and gratitude.   The group thanked her sincerely. Then, it was their turn to ask something of her. They needed help getting Durgle out of the city.   Meliana frowned—by her understanding, the Shimmerforge curse made that physically impossible. But then she paused. Her father, Illion Quoronriel, had left behind a vast collection of documents for his successor. Instructions. Secrets. Lineage rites. Perhaps, within those scrolls, there was something about the curse—and how to break it. She promised to read through them that very night.   Then, just before she left, she mentioned one last thing—and looked to Leo. Everyone else took the hint and quietly stepped back, giving them privacy.   Jaina, Mae, and Aerith couldn’t resist peeking over their shoulders, but they were too far to hear what was said. Meliana handed Leo something small. He looked at it for a moment, thanked her, and slipped it away without a word. Meliana gave her goodbyes to the others, the color in her cheeks just a little brighter than before.   Durgle and Alban returned to the room. Durgle informed them he’d come back in the morning, this time accompanied by Meliana. Alban and Professor Hollister—who had remained quietly seated by the fire all this time—were preparing to head to the Aezaezias Academy library to do some additional research.   Once the house was quiet again, the group took a moment to split the reward Illian had given them. Five hundred platinum pieces, divided among them. Everyone received twenty platinum pieces, with the remainder placed in the Bag of Holding.   They were almost ready to leave Illumé. But first— some shopping.   As the group made their way through Illumé’s districts toward the Velvet Promenade, they overheard whispers and fragmented rumors drifting between the citizens. They were all discussing what group or creatures were behind the attack, but stories wildly differed. What struck Aerith most was the lack of mourning—no one seemed to grieve the lords and ladies who had fallen. It was clear that few knew the full truth. Perhaps only the Order and a handful of others carried the weight of what had really happened.   At the Promenade, Mind led everyone to the tailor.   To everyone’s surprise, he requested a completely new look—gauntlets custom-fit to hold daggers, along with new belts for his upper arms, chest, and legs, all designed to carry more blades. The rest of the party watched in stunned silence. Since when did Mind, a wizard, carry daggers?   When they visited the weaponsmith for the set of eight daggers, Jaina wandered the shop with a distracted air. Her bow—once gifted by her mother—had been with her since she could remember. But it had always been a placeholder, something given in haste when she needed protection. It held little sentiment, and it had long outlived its usefulness. With the help of a keen-eyed shopkeeper, she found her replacement: a +1 High Elven longbow, sleek and subtly decorated. She sold the old one without hesitation.   Aerith browsed with less certainty, unsure of what she was searching for until something caught her eye—a Lucky Stone, shaped like a cat’s head with a single amethyst set in the eye socket. Something about it spoke to her. It promised a small edge—luck, and perhaps protection. She bought it and quietly told Jaina they might need all the luck they could get.   While the others were shopping, Mae was searching. She checked the Aezaezias Academy library. Nothing. The Quoronriel mansion? Still nothing. In a final attempt, she asked a guard—only to be met with a curt refusal. Walking home, she penned a letter to Illian and handed it off to Barrick, requesting a meeting.   Back at the mansion, the party reconvened and proudly revealed their new gear. Gordon had prepared a hearty meal, and after dinner, they all turned in for the night.     The next morning, they gathered in the mansion gardens. Meliana, Alban, and Durgle were already there—mid-conversation. Meliana was speaking thoughtfully, Alban looked like he hadn’t had coffee in a week, and Durgle was staring at the ground in a vague state of tension.   Meliana had news. She had gone through her father’s records—the centuries-old documents passed from one head of House Quoronriel to the next. And she might have found something. But there was only one way to know for sure. A test.   Everyone exchanged uncertain glances. Mind leaned toward Alban and whispered, “Stay close.” Alban, misinterpreting the request, latched his tiny hands around Mind’s fingertips. Mind was a little embarrassed but didn’t protest. It wasn’t worth the energy.   They followed Meliana to the West Outer Gate—the edge of Illumé. Durgle was already showing signs of discomfort. As they neared the threshold, Gotrick and Leo had to practically carry him forward. Meliana remained calm, her focus unshaken.   She explained that she wanted to test what would happen if Durgle physically stepped beyond the city’s boundaries. Jaina offered encouragement to Durgle. Maybe it was all just a placebo—maybe the curse wasn’t as dire as everyone believed.   Durgle struggled. Sweat beaded on his brow. His steps slowed.   Then, with a final shove from Gotrick and Leo, he crossed the threshold. Nothing happened. For a beat, the group just stood there—waiting.   Then Durgle’s eyes widened, panic seizing him. He flung himself back into the city. Meliana was smiling triumphantly.   Placebo, she said confidently. The curse, it turned out, induced only anxiety—not death. There was magic involved, yes, but not the kind that would kill a Shimmerforge upon exit.   Gotrick asked how Durgle felt. Panicked, he admitted. But then, as his breathing slowed, realization dawned: He was still alive.   Back at the mansion, they sat down to talk through what this meant. According to Meliana, the curse had been placed centuries ago—an agreement between Fenwickle Shimmerforge and a long-dead Quoronriel. The idea was to keep the Shimmerforge line anchored in Illumé, so their magical knowledge and craftsmanship could be cultivated and preserved within the city. A form of peace. A cage of safety.   Mind asked if Durgle could overcome it and Meliana believed he could. It would take time, effort, and a very careful approach. The best chance? To teleport him somewhere unfamiliar, so his mind wouldn’t immediately connect it to “leaving Illumé.” It would have to be fast. And he’d need to be restrained.
Aerith turned to Durgle. Was this something he truly wanted?   Durgle was quiet. Then, slowly, he nodded. The anxiety was terrible. But the excitement—the potential—of discovering the world beyond Illumé burned brighter than his fear. He asked for two days. Time to prepare mentally… and to finish crafting Gotrick’s weapon.   Mae told the group she would stay behind. She would continue checking on Zharrus just like Selen, and if possible, speak with Illian. Her journey with the Order had meant the world to her, and though she was stepping away, she promised to always remain connected. The group embraced her or held out her hand to her. They wished her luck in finding her sister.   She, in turn, wished them luck in whatever came next.   Two days later, they reconvened. They grabbed their things and Aerith left behind a note for Zharrus in case he woke up. In the note, she had explained how they had rescued him and what had been arranged for him. He could leave the city and do whatever his heart desired. She hoped he would let her know when he woke up and forgive her for leaving him behind in Illumé. She promised to meet him as soon as possible if he wanted her to.   Meliana led the group through customs with official authority. Durgle was bound in rope, a cloth from Aerith’s disguise kit tied gently over his eyes. Mind stood ready to cast Hypnotic Pattern at the first sign of panic. Gotrick carried Durgle like precious cargo and Alban was back into the shoulder bag.   At the gates, customs officers raised their brows. Durgle began to tremble. Mind cast the spell—once, twice, again—as they waited for the paperwork to clear. Meliana spoke with confidence. This was a high-priority diplomatic mission. Consent had been given. Eventually, the documents were approved.   They stepped onto the Magic Circle. Before they left, they turned to Meliana one last time. They thanked her—for her trust, her honesty, and her strength. She would make a great head of House Quoronriel. She smiled humbly.   And just before the spell activated, her gaze lingered on Leo. The Circle pulsed. And in a blink of blue light, they were gone.     Returning to Thalaniel felt like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. For Jaina, Aerith, and Mind especially, it was a return to something familiar, something that felt like home. Winter had already cast its long shadow across the city, and the streets were quiet beneath a darkening sky. Without delay, the group headed straight for the Keep of Adamant.   At the gates, they were stopped by a pair of guards—but after explaining, truthfully, that they had come to help Durgle manage a magical anxiety curse, the guards waved them through without issue. The Order of Adamant still carried weight here in Thalaniel.   Once inside the Keep, Durgle was carefully—and apologetically—tied to Jaina’s bed, left in Walter’s steady care. The group then reunited with Grim and Drajag, who had been waiting eagerly for their arrival.   They shared a brief recounting of the events in Illumé. Grim and Drajag listened with wide eyes, clearly stunned. “One hell of a story” didn’t even begin to cover it. When they explained the situation with Durgle, and how he would be assisting with Tacton’s reconstruction, Drajag’s eyes lit up. Finally, progress. Something new. Something exciting.   Mind had a sudden idea. There was someone in Thalaniel who might be able to help—Virric Herbleaf, the eccentric herbalist and botanical expert they had met long ago. If anyone had something to soothe Durgle’s curse-wracked mind, it would be him. Aerith agreed, it was a great idea.   Despite the hour, the trio—Mind, Jaina, and Aerith—headed out into the quiet streets of Thalaniel. Snow crunched underfoot. Lanterns glowed softly against the dark.   They knocked at Virric’s door. It opened a sliver. Then, wide. Virric’s face lit up with recognition.   Mind explained the situation with his usual clarity—but as soon as Virric began listing the names of calming herbs, Mind took a small step back and pointed to Jaina. “You should tell Jaina. She’s extremely interested.” Jaina shot him a look and was flustered.   Mind and Aerith wandered a few paces away, trying to suppress their laughter as Virric launched into a passionate, lecture-length explanation of herbs, roots, and botanical chemistry. Jaina stood there, smiling politely, occasionally glaring daggers at them over her shoulder. Eventually, Virric recommended Moon Flower petals—a plant that could be brewed into a tea and safely consumed while the drinker was restrained. Perfect for Durgle’s current state.   Jaina, while there, also asked for something less helpful—perhaps a mushroom that could cause a bit of stomach trouble. Virric, never one to judge, happily supplied her with the perfect little menace. Aerith caught the mischief in Jaina’s eyes and grinned. She had understood Jaina perfectly.   Mind, appreciative of the help, tipped Virric extra for seeing them after hours. Virric was overjoyed, insisting they visit any time.   Back at the Keep, they gathered in Durgle’s new room. The blindfold was off now, but he was still tied up and wriggling nervously. Gotrick and Mind held him steady as Leo slowly poured the Moon Flower tea into his mouth. It took a few minutes, but eventually, the effects began to take hold. Durgle quieted.   Jaina blinked. A message had just entered her mind through her Sending Stone—it was from Ieghi.   She’d sensed the Platinum Dragon. He had landed in a city called Faelrien in Paeri, and she would be staying there a while. Jaina messaged back, asking if she expected her mother to arrive there as well—and to please keep the group updated.   As the evening wore on, the Keep began to settle. Mind was too exhausted to cast another spell. Jaina had hoped to train with Kiwi, but he had already curled up and fallen asleep. Aerith found a quiet corner to herself and raised her hand with her engagement ring.   She spoke softly, calling out to Aegaelion. She told him she had been thinking about his proposal—and that she wanted to talk. Not just to give him an answer, but to ask him what she needed to know first. His voice responded quickly in her mind. Gentle. Distant. He said he would love to see her. But he couldn’t, not for a while. This, he said, was the only way they could speak—for now. The answer didn’t surprise her. But it still hurt.   The next morning, the Order set out early for Cyrill. Thanks to Barric’s speedy delivery, an audience had already been arranged with Fendan and Lothric. They left Durgle in the careful care of Grim, Drajag, and Walter at the Keep of Adamant, until he was ready to begin work on Tacton.   It had been some time since they last visited Cyrill, but the city still felt familiar—like stepping into a memory they hadn’t had time to process. They made their way to the palace. The familiar side entrance where they would find the Fendan and Lothric in their work chamber. They waited only a short while before being led to the Sea Elf duo. The greeting was warm—genuine relief to see each other again after all that had happened.   Fendan and Lothric already knew most of it from Meliana Quoronriel: the fall of the noble houses, the appearance of the Light Celenthir and its theft. Another war seemed possible, they said—if the thefts of others continued. The Order asked what aid was needed. Mind led the conversation, speculating that Zenatosh might be pursuing the Water Celenthir.   Fendan and Lothric couldn’t confirm, but they did have a lead: the Tidal Wave Temple, hidden and sacred. It was the next logical step. They told the Order that someone religious would be needed to enter the temple and retrieve an artifact—one that could reveal the Celenthir’s location. Whether it had been stolen or not remained to be seen. Luckily, they already had someone religious, Gotrick.   There was another issue of course. The Karoshi Islands.   The Order knew what that meant: the assassination of the Deep Caller. A deadly, highly political mission—on a ship, across the sea, far from everything.   Lastly, Fendan and Lothric mentioned that an old friend of the Order’s—Borealla, the archaeologist—had found a lead on an artifact used in the God Wars. A weapon made to fight gods themselves. She hadn’t revealed the location to anyone but had promised to share it with the Order directly. Mind, Jaina and Aerith confirmed to Leo and Gotrick that she could be trusted.   Leo asked what was being done to protect the remaining Shards of Anar. Fendan told them troops had already been dispatched—there was little else to do for now.   Weighing their options, the group debated. The Karoshi mission was critical indeed—but the sea was foreign to them. Perhaps Illumé, with its naval expertise, would be better suited for that task.   Borealla’s discovery sounded promising—but it could wait, just a little longer.   But the Water Celenthir? That seemed to be the priority. It might already be gone for all they knew. Or it might still be out there, vulnerable. Either way, they needed to know. Jaina asked for Lothric and Fendan’s opinion, and the Sea Elves agreed—their reasoning was sound.   It was decided. They would go to the Tidal Wave Temple.   Lothric rolled out a map and pointed to a city none of them had never visited: Paethal. From there, they could reach the mountain range that marked the border between Cygnia and the Paeri Woods.   Suddenly, a knock interrupted them.   King Barus of Cyrill entered with a few guards. The Order rose respectfully and curtseyed. The king welcomed them back and thanked them for their continued service. When he heard they were heading toward the Water Celenthir, he had one small request: a detour.   A few days north, in the Iseryl Grove, was a village called Yslenor. There, they were to make contact with a woman known as Selira, the Candy Witch, and deliver her a package—discreetly.   He handed the wrapped gift to Mind. Immediately suspicious, Mind raised an eyebrow. Barus reassured them: it was safe. Gotrick, Jaina and Aerith were reminded of Durgle prank from a few weeks ago. It had seemed funny now.   When Gotrick asked how to approach the witch, Barus advised caution. Get to know her. Offer help. Don’t give her the gift right away—and most importantly, don’t mention the king of West-Cyrill. The villagers revered Selira. She had once worked for the Illumé government, an extraordinary woman whose talents went unrecognized. In response, she had retired, traveled, and finally settled in Yslenor, devoting her time to candy-making.   But her true strength? Medicine, Glyphs and Wards. She had walked between worlds for centuries using these skills to survive—and now she was beloved for protecting the village from danger with these skills, not to mention her mind-blowingly good sweets. Children naturally adored her. During this conversation, Mind quietly leaned toward Fendan, requesting more of that special ink he'd been given once before. Fendan grinned and told him it was already waiting for him at the Keep of Adamant.   With their mission clear, the Order bid farewell and made a quick stop—Mind picking up a scroll of Absorb Elements from Arranck’s before they set off.     Snowflakes fell gently as they traveled. The first day was peaceful—just a dusting of snow, the kind that softened the landscape. Mind wondered to Aerith about this witch and why they would need her specifically. Aerith raised an eyebrow at him, knowing of course of his untrusting nature. She explained to him that they would need all of the allies they could get in such dangerous times as these. Jaina received another message from Ieghi: she was staying in Faelrien, expecting them to come sooner or later, as they'd need to if they wanted to collect all the Shards of Anar. Each night, they camped in either Rope Trick or Tiny Hut, taking turns on watch beneath the stars.   The second day brought colder winds. Aerith found herself missing the Celebren fireplace. Jaina did her best to keep her warm. Mind, however, relished the cold—it reminded him of old adventures. Gotrick remained comfortable atop Serosh, and Leo moved steadily forward, unaffected—for now.   By the third day, they entered a forest of cedar trees, where their footsteps disappeared into soft, gathering snow.   They arrived in Yslenor by midday. Their travel had been uneventful to their luck.   The town was quiet, dressed in white. At the first inn they came across, they shook off the snow from their cloaks. Sadly, Serosh had to remain outside, though Mind created a warm Tiny Hut for him, earning a grateful, slow blink from the celestial mount.   Inside, they met the innkeeper—Sherman—and booked two rooms for their stay. They ordered steaming bowls of soup (potatoes, winter vegetables, and egg) and mugs of hot cocoa. Casually, they asked about the local legend—the Witch who made the world’s best candy.   Sherman smiled. Yes, she lived in a small shack up north. Hard to find, unless someone showed you the way. He advised asking a local child. The kids, he said, loved her most of all.   As the group settled into the warmth of the inn, snow piled softly against the windows. Their journey had brought them through familair places eventhough the world seemed to be different— and now, into a village that smelled of sugar and frost. Tomorrow, they would seek out a witch of myth and memory