The morning after the horrors beneath Southaven, the party gathered in Velara’s room to make sense of everything—the vows binding their tongues, the secrets coiled around their hearts, and the paths that lay before them. The conversation stretched long into the night, but exhaustion eventually claimed them.
They woke to the sounds of preparation. Lord Kael had declared a celebration: the siege was broken, the farmlands secured, and the people of Southaven needed something to believe in again. The party spent the morning in town, stretching their legs after weeks of crisis. Momeline visited the library and purchased a pair of spell scrolls for Lirielle.
The celebration filled the front lawn of Southaven Keep with music, laughter, and the warmth of a community trying to remember what hope felt like. But not everyone came to celebrate. Lady Tywin rose before the assembled crowd and leveled an accusation at the party—that they were conspiring to seize control of Southaven for themselves.
The party went back and forth with her a bit, but Lord Kael dismissed her with a wave and a weary smile. He raised his goblet high. A toast to the heroes who had saved them all.
The party sensed something wrong. A faint wrongness in the smell of the wine, a whisper of dark magic that prickled at their senses. They held their cups without drinking. But they realized too late—Lord Kael had already swallowed.
A shadowy dome erupted from his body, swallowing him whole. Wraiths poured from the darkness, their spectral claws reaching for the terrified guests. The party leapt into action, blades and spells carving through the shadows. They discovered quickly that the dome weakened most against radiant damage.
Talan had retrieved an antidote from Wizzlethorpe’s lab and Momeline didn’t hesitate. She Misty Stepped directly into the dome, vial in hand. The moment she crossed the threshold, though, the same curse that gripped Lord Kael seized her too. She collapsed beside him, both of them fading.
The battle raged. One by one the wraiths fell, and slowly, painfully, the dome began to crack. Dravencoles and Brenlan poured healing magic into Momeline and Lord Kael the moment the barrier shattered, barely in time. The Lord survived, but he did not wake. He lay pale and still, breathing but lost somewhere beyond their reach.
The party gathered what evidence they could. Every thread led to the same name: Mira Fallbrook. Witnesses reported seeing her flee south on a stolen horse just before the toast. The woman they had saved from Silas’s enchantment, the alchemist they had given a second chance—appears to have poisoned Lord Kael and vanished into the night.
With her father in a coma, Velara assumed the role of interim Lord. The weight of it settled visibly on her shoulders, but she bore it without complaint. She could not leave—not now, not with Southaven so fragile. She arranged for refugees to be sent to Solaris while the strong stayed back to rebuild and asked the party to travel ahead with Landor, to prepare the way and seek whatever aid the capital might offer.
The journey to Solaris took seven days of quick riding. When they arrived, something felt wrong. People stared. Guards watched them with curiosity. The city had been in lockdown for some time, they learned—though no one would say exactly why.
They managed a brief audience with King Aldric IX Solborn, but the meeting offered little comfort. The King was distant, his words clipped, his attention elsewhere. He dismissed them almost immediately. What struck the party most was not the King himself, but the man standing at his shoulder: Castellan Verin, a gray-robed advisor who seemed to guide the conversation with subtle nods and whispered counsel. For a church administrator, he carried himself like someone accustomed to being obeyed.
The party retreated to the Gilded Dragon Tavern, where they rented the entire second floor. The innkeeper seemed relieved to have paying customers—foreign visitors had become rare since the lockdown began. As they settled into their rooms, the party exchanged uneasy glances. Southaven lay wounded behind them. Solaris felt like a city holding its breath.