**Scene 1: The Forsaken Aerie** The flickering lamplight cast long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn table within the council tent, illuminating the glowing map that Orena had unfurled. The faint shimmer of arcane lines, a network of power, shifted and pulsed, drawing the eye to a specific convergence point deep within the uncharted territories to the west. "This," Orena declared, her voice clear and steady, cutting through the quiet anticipation of Gideon and Maximus, "is the Forsaken Aerie." Her finger traced the convergence of faintly glowing lines on the map. "To the west, deep within the Narlmarches, lies what I believe to be an ancient wizard's tower. It's been untouched for centuries, according to the stories passed down among the sparse settlements. The convergence of ley lines here suggests immense magical resonance. I've been calling it the Forsaken Aerie—both for its isolation and the power it seems to hold." Orena straightened, her gaze sweeping over Gideon and Maximus, her tone purposeful and determined. "The terrain will be rough, the dangers unpredictable, but the potential rewards are too great to ignore. If the Aerie holds even a fraction of what I suspect, it could transform our understanding of this land and give our fledgling kingdom a lasting advantage." She placed her hands lightly on the edges of the table, the map's glow faintly illuminating her determined expression. "I'm ready to lead this expedition, but I'll need all of you to make it a success. Together, we can uncover the secrets of the Forsaken Aerie and bring its power into the light." Orena stepped back slightly, leaving the map as the focal point, waiting in silence for their response. A spark of adventure, long dormant, ignited within Gideon. The call to explore the unknown, to delve into the mysteries of the arcane, was a chafing need for the gnome. "The call to adventure had been chafing quite severely. I don't think it does for my kind to sit idle for too long," Gideon announced, his voice brimming with newfound enthusiasm. "Since the day is already into the evening, what say you to camping just out of town and setting off in the morning? It will give us a chance to get camp duties sorted out, and we can leave at first light. Maximus, Boldtooth, and our kobold companions can also work out a watch rotation, which of course, you can include me in. Ahh, I can already feel the grey leaving me!" Maximus, ever pragmatic, responded, "I will take first watch when we settle with one of our kobold companions. My systems do not require much rest." The group, with Orena, prepared to make their final preperations before an early departure. **Scene 2: Into the Narlmarches** The journey began under a clear, promising sky. The group, energized by Orena's briefing and the prospect of discovery, broke their temporary camp at first light. Gideon, setting a regular pace, kept one eye on the path ahead and the other savoring the unfolding scenery. Nav, his clockwork eidolon, mirrored his vigilance, its mechanical senses alert. The day stretched on uneventfully as the party ventured deeper into the Stolen Lands. The sun rose into a pristine blue sky, its warmth tempered by a gentle breeze carrying the earthy scent of fresh grass and budding wildflowers. Birds flitted between the trees, their songs weaving a peaceful melody through the otherwise silent wilderness. Small woodland creatures—rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional fox—watched curiously as the group passed, their interest fading as quickly as it sparked. The dirt path beneath their boots crunched softly, the only constant sound during their journey. Overhead, the sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating a dappled play of light and shadow on the trail. Gideon's keen eyes, always searching, caught the faint glint of something metallic in the bushes—a discarded horseshoe, rusted and old, suggesting the remnants of a long-abandoned cart path. As the party continued deeper into the Stolen Lands, the morning sunlight steadily warmed the crisp air. The gentle rustle of leaves and the playful dance of light across the forest floor accompanied each step. A short while later, the group noticed a figure crouched near a winding creek, carefully inspecting a small trap. He was a lean, weathered hunter, clad in patched leathers and carrying a modest satchel bulging with freshly tanned pelts. A single arrow rested nocked but undrawn against his bow, suggesting both caution and practiced ease. His dark hair was pulled back, revealing a thin smile creasing the corners of his sun-beaten face as he recognized them not as threats but fellow travelers. Sparkfang, one of the kobold guards accompanying the group, studied the figure intently, gauging his distance, mentally calculating trajectory and draw speed. He waited patiently for one of the leaders to speak. "Hail the hunter!" Gideon announced, his voice echoing through the quiet woods. The lean hunter straightened at Gideon's call, his hand shifting away from the arrow nocked on his bow. Recognition flickered across his weathered features as he took in the group, and he offered a respectful dip of his head. "Hail there, good ser," he said in a voice roughened by countless nights sleeping under open skies. "I didn't realize at first... Gideon, isn't it? One of the Rivermarch leaders." He tucked the arrow back into his quiver. "My apologies, if I'd known who was wandering in, I'd have made a friendlier show." He patted the satchel slung across his shoulder—a bulging, worn piece of leather that rustled with fresh pelts. "I've been setting snares and traps for a few days now. Thinking I'd bring these furs back to trade in Rivermarch. Folk there pay fairly for good pelts, and it's safer on your roads than most other places in the Stolen Lands." He glanced around the quiet expanse of grass and scattered trees. "It's been calm out here, for once. No bandits, no nasty critters trying to make me their next meal. Just me, the forest, and the game. Better knock on wood that it stays that way." He offered a small smile, eyes flicking between Gideon and the rest of the party. "If you're looking for a decent supply of hides, or just local news, I'm your man." "Greetings Friend," Maximus interjected, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. "Have you heard tails of a beast that slaughters its prey violently with a distinct smell near the eastern path?" The hunter's brow furrowed briefly as he considered Maximus's question, then he shook his head. "A distinct smell, you say? Sorry, friend—I've caught no whiff of anything out of the ordinary." He paused, resting one hand on the pelts strapped over his shoulder. "Though, I can't say I'm shocked to hear rumors of such a creature. This land's brimming with beasts and monsters, some we know and some that only show themselves when they please. "I hunt game and gather furs, but every so often, I'll come across something…unsettling. Deep claw marks in a tree trunk that I've never seen before, mutilated deer that look half-eaten but tossed aside, you name it. Could be trolls, could be worgs, could be something nastier I've yet to see. So, if there's a monster stalking the eastern path—wouldn't be the first, and it sure won't be the last in the Stolen Lands." His eyes lingered on Maximus, a flicker of concern there. "Mind yourselves out that way." The hunter offered a parting wave, fading into the rolling expanse of grass and scattered trees as the adventurers continued on their way. The sun's descent stretched shadows across the land, and the gentle hush of evening settled in without incident. Night passed in tranquil darkness—no strange beasts or ominous sounds to disturb the group's rest—just the distant chorus of crickets and the occasional rustle of the breeze through dry leaves. By mid-day of the following day, the adventurers crested a small rise to find themselves at the threshold of the Narlmarches. The trees began to crowd together, forming the suggestive outline of deeper woods ahead. Shafts of sunlight flickered through the foliage, and the slow, rhythmic sway of branches hinted at the ancient life within. Despite the forest's inviting green, an undercurrent of caution hung in the air; here at the forest's edge, the party stood on the boundary between known roads and the untamed mysteries that lay beyond. Orena slowed her pace as the group neared the edge of the Narlmarches, squinting at the thickening treeline in the distance. She exhaled softly, turning toward the others to share a bit of her knowledge. "You see how the trees start to grow closer, forming a dense green wall up ahead? That's the outer fringe of the Narlmarches—a forest older than some kingdoms. Even at its outskirts, it commands caution. Tales claim these woods have swallowed entire expeditions without a trace. It's part of why they call this land 'Stolen,' I suppose—the wilderness here takes back whatever it wants. "In ages past, the Narlmarches used to extend far beyond what we see now. Early settlers and lumber companies came chasing profit, hacking away at the forest's borders. Some never made it back out, though—bandits, beasts, or the forest's own strange protectors always found ways to thwart unchecked greed. Over time, loggers told tales of waking in the morning to find their wagons overgrown with moss or their lumber piles drenched in unnatural rain. "Even before logging, small tribes or druidic circles called these woods home. Rumor has it you can still stumble across ancient shrines dedicated to old forest spirits. If the stories hold any truth, stepping into such places without proper respect can earn you the wrath of fey who still watch over their ancestral groves. "Through the centuries, various lords tried to claim the Narlmarches, but the forest consistently defied a single ruler. Its shifting boundaries and hidden paths made it a refuge for outlaws and hermits alike. In time, everyone from petty barons to Taldan explorers gave up trying to control more than the fringes. Folks say if you press too deep, it's only a matter of time before the woods exact a toll. We're not inside its shadows yet," she said, glancing back toward the group. "But keep your eyes open. The boundary between safety and peril here can be as thin as a single sapling." Gideon considered Orena's words, the warnings mixing with the thrill of the unknown. "Then we move with cautious purpose. I'm no stranger to the stranger side of the arcane, and we should be prepared for anything." He turned to Orena, a question in his eyes. "How far in have you traveled, Orena? How far from our destination are we by your estimate?" Maximus declared, "Maximus will run security for the camping." Orena shifted her weight, glancing down at the rolled parchment tucked against her side. Her brow creased just a fraction as she spoke. "I've been in and out of the Narlmarches a few times now—always on smaller expeditions with short-term goals. We did some decent mapping, but it was never without complications." She patted the map case lightly, almost as if to reassure herself. "I tried my best to note down all we saw: streams, game trails, certain hills that might serve as landmarks. But a lot of it ended up guesswork. Honestly, at this point, I'm not sure which details are fully reliable and which were educated stabs in the dark." She exhaled a quiet chuckle, tinged with a hint of rueful acceptance. "We always had to leave in a hurry or skip entire regions because of bandits or worse. So, there are patches where this map might be spot on…and others where it might lead us in circles. Just don't trust it too rigidly, is all." Lifting her gaze to the half-shadowed trees just ahead, she smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Still, we should be only a day or two out from our objective—if all goes well. Whether you want to push on or camp right by the border, I'll follow your lead. Just know once we're in those trees, everything's a bit…subject to change." Her smile was wry, but there was still a flicker of confidence in her eyes. "Welcome to the Narlmarches, I suppose." Gideon made a decision. "I vote we press on for the day. Not to invite karma, but we've had a completely uneventful trip so far. I can't see any reason to delay. Shall we?" Borion agreed, "Yes, let's keep going." Maximus concurred, "Let us keep striving forward." **Scene 3: Watched in the Woods** The party broke camp with a quiet efficiency born of practice and growing camaraderie. At Gideon's confident urging and Borion's ready agreement, they decided to press onward rather than linger at the forest's edge. Maximus—ever vigilant—walked a step behind, scanning both their flanks with mechanical precision. Orena took a moment to orient her notes and half-remembered sketches, pointing to a faint game trail vanishing into the dense treeline. "From what I recall, following this trail should keep us on relatively stable ground for a while," she remarked, folding the parchment and tucking it away. "Though I'll admit, any of these old paths can twist or vanish without warning." The group set off, leaving behind the safety of open grasslands. The transition into the Narlmarches was almost immediate: once-scattered trees closed ranks, the canopy above filtering sunlight into dappled patches on the forest floor. Birdsong melted into the hum of insects, and a cool breeze carried the lush scent of moss and damp earth. Despite the day's warmth, the deeper shadows around fallen logs and vine-wrapped trunks hinted at the forest's own hidden chill. The further they pressed into the Narlmarches, the more Gideon felt an uncanny pattern forming around them. At first, it was nothing overt—just the absence of expected dangers in a land known for its lurking predators and bandit ambushes. On every edge of his vision, shapes shifted among the underbrush. A rustle of movement here, the snap of a branch there. More than once, Gideon caught himself whipping around only to glimpse the fleeting silhouette of a figure melting into thick brush. And yet, not a single arrow was loosed in their direction, nor did any beast suddenly lunge from the shadows. Pausing in a small glade dappled with slanting sunlight, Gideon inspected a series of fresh tracks crisscrossing the damp soil. None belonged to his party, and they certainly weren't the footprints of wildlife. Whoever laid them seemed adept at maneuvering without causing a stir—breaking no twigs, leaving no sign of broken branches. It was as if these silent watchers moved *ahead* of the group, ever-present but concealed, a constant but invisible guard. Subtle evidence of intervention appeared, too. Downed logs, deliberately placed as if blocking the direction of certain game trails that might lead to more dangerous territory. Brush piled just so around the mouth of a dark cave. Even the scattered remains of a predator's kill lay well off their path, almost as if ushering them away from would-be threats. With each discovery, Gideon's suspicion strengthened: someone—maybe multiple someones—was guiding them, ensuring that anything deadly or hostile kept its distance. The feeling of being watched grew more persistent, tingling at the back of Gideon's neck. Whatever presence was out there didn't appear overtly hostile—quite the opposite, in fact. Whether it was a protective guardianship or the attempt of a hidden faction to guide them somewhere specific, Gideon couldn't yet be sure. But one thing *was* certain: they were not alone in this forest, and the Narlmarches' quiet was no longer just a testament to their own skill or luck. Something else was at work, maintaining that uneasy peace. As it grew later in the day, it was time to camp - or the group could push on, but they would risk exhaustion. Maximus suggested, "My flesh companions should not risk exhaustion. I suggest we rest here for the night." Gideon agreed, "Agreed." Maximus volunteered, "I shall take first watch, and if one of our kobold friends would like to join in, that is most acceptable." The two NPC kobolds would also assist with the night's watch. The group used their supplies to make a fire. **Scene 4: Night Terrors and Fey Interference** Centered on the campsite, Gideon cast an *alarm* spell, creating a 20-foot burst of magical protection. The password for the spell was "Dessert Stand." He also volunteered for the second watch. As the night lingered, the pull of energy that Gideon had felt in the past, a subtle resonance with the land, began to return. Borion, too, could sense this growing magical surge. The surge of magic unexpectedly increased the *alarm* spell's radius to 60 feet. Borion, attuned to the natural world, decided to cast *root reading*, seeking any hidden creatures within 30 feet. As he pressed his hand to the mossy earth and let the forest's quiet energy rush through his fingertips, the roots below seemed to whisper secrets into his mind. No large or medium creatures lurked nearby—nothing that stomped or prowled. And yet, an elusive glimmer of magic caught his notice. A fluttering presence, scarcely larger than a child's toy, made the roots twitch with guarded excitement. It carried a bright, playful aura, as though it were born of laughter and spun from illusions. There was a subtle suggestion of fine scales and delicate wings, coaxing his senses toward a gentle mischief in the undergrowth—something small, sly, and surprisingly draconic, dancing just out of sight. Maximus's first watch began under a starless stretch of sky, the wind stirring the trees into hushed conversations beyond the camp's weak firelight. Despite his vigilance, the hours slipped by in an uneasy calm, marked only by the occasional snap of a branch out in the darkness. For an instant, he caught a flicker of movement near the tree line—too brief to identify. His mechanical pulse quickened, but when he strained his optical sensors and listened hard, the night offered nothing more. It left him with a faint prickle of unease that lingered even as his shift drew to a close, unsure whether it was only his imagination… or if something quietly prowled on the edge of sight. Gideon took over the watch. Cupping his hands, he cast the *light* spell four times, creating four orbs that, due to the magical surge, shone with an unexpectedly bright light for 80 feet, with dim light extending another 80 feet beyond that. He released the orbs, moving them towards the area where Maximus had sensed movement, each orb moving 15 feet per turn. "Well, I wasn't expecting that, to be sure...." Gideon muttered, startled by the spell's amplified power. The woods lit up like day as the spells were cast. A flying creature, startled by the sudden illumination, skittered deeper into the forest, a recognizable, mischievous laugh echoing as it retreated... It was Pervilash, the faerie dragon they had encountered previously. "Hmmm," Gideon mused to himself, "on the one hand, it seems like we found our helper.... On the other, he's fey-related.... And on the *other*, there's a lot of magic flying around right now. Fey and unexpected don't mix, in my experience." A crisp breeze rustled through the branches overhead as the final embers of Gideon's watch flickered in the firepit. Moonlight filtered through thinning clouds, painting silvery patterns on the ground around the camp. The soft chorus of crickets and the occasional snap of twigs underfoot punctuated an otherwise quiet night. At the edge of the clearing, Gideon stood alert—his shift nearly over. His breath misted faintly in the cold air as he kept a careful eye on the perimeter. He scanned the treeline one last time. Satisfied for the moment that all was calm, he turned back toward the glowing coals. Nearby, a slumbering shape stirred. With a rough grunt, Boldtooth sat up in his bedroll, shoulders rolling as he shook off the remnants of sleep. The self-proclaimed "100% KOBOLD" quickly slipped on his worn leather jerkin, buckling it in place. He reached for his battered shield and well-used pick, setting them close by before rising. He glanced across the campsite, his gaze settling on Gideon. With a quiet step, Boldtooth moved closer, nodding in acknowledgment. "All quiet?" he asked in a low voice, pitched not to wake any of the others. He studied Gideon for a moment, waiting to see if there was any sign of concern—or if Gideon might say something before heading off to rest. Satisfied or not, Boldtooth then rubbed the back of his neck and let out a small yawn. Three hours passed. Gideon woke with a bolt, gasping for breath, the half-glimpsed memories of a nightmare vanishing as reality asserted itself. The night around him was still, but not peaceful—two more startled gasps followed from nearby bedrolls. Orena whipped back her blanket and slid next to Gideon, eyes wide and fearful. "You saw it?" she rasped, her voice quivering. Maximus, roused by the commotion, spoke in his deep, resonant voice. "What did you see, companions? I am not sure how you see when you do what is called sleeping. Don't you close your seeing devices?" As Borion stirred awake and sat near the soft embers of the campfire, his expression was distant, his brow furrowed as if chasing a fleeting memory. When the others roused and noticed his distracted demeanor, he spoke haltingly, his voice low and edged with uncertainty. "I… I dreamt of something. It felt… important. Or perhaps a warning." He rubbed at his temple, his hand trembling faintly. "There was light, everywhere—crystal walls that shimmered like prisms. And voices. Or maybe… a voice. It spoke to me. Mocked me. It knew me—knew my fears, my doubts, the things I try not to say aloud." He exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. "I was walking through this endless corridor, but I wasn't alone. There were figures, faint and blurred, legends of magic I've only read about, though I couldn't reach them. And then…" He hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly to his sword, fingers brushing the hilt. "There was a fight, but not with anything else—just… me. Reflections of me, better than me, faster than me. I couldn't… I couldn't win. No matter what I did, they were always ahead. And the voice—it called me small, told me I was nothing but a spark that couldn't last." Borion's voice grew quieter, his gaze lowering to the embers. "I tried. Gods, I tried to prove it wrong, but every move I made felt like… it wasn't enough. In the end, everything shattered—everything fell apart, and I fell with it. The last thing it said was…" He faltered, his mouth dry. "‘We shall see.’ As if my worth is still in question." He shook his head, brow knitting tighter. "I can barely grasp it now. It's all fragments—just a jumble of light and shadows, of voices and echoes that don't make sense anymore." His gaze lifted to the party, searching their faces for some understanding, some anchor. "Do you think dreams can… test us? Or warn us? Or am I just being haunted by my own doubts?" Borion forced a thin smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry. I don't mean to burden you with this. I just… it feels like whatever it was, it won't be the last time I face it." Orena's fingers tightened around the edge of her blanket, her knuckles whitening as Borion spoke. When he finished, she didn't look at him—her gaze stayed fixed on the dying fire, as if the embers held answers. "Your doubts?" she muttered, her voice brittle. "No. This wasn't just doubt. It was… precise. Surgical." She lurched to her feet, stumbling slightly as she grabbed her leather-bound journal from her pack. The pages flipped wildly, her ink-stained fingers trembling. "I saw it too. Not your dream, but mine. The leylines—gods—they weren't just collapsing. They were *unspooling*. Like the world's seams coming apart." Her words spilled faster, sharper, as if reciting a field report to stave off panic. "There was a tower—my tower, back in Candlehollow. The one where I first theorized arcane resonance thresholds. But in the dream, the stones were… breathing. Pulsing. And the leylines beneath it—" She broke off, her free hand clawing at the air as if trying to grasp the memory. "They turned inward. Curled back on themselves like vipers eating their own tails. My colleagues—Dr. Erris, Master Vellin—they stood at the edge of the fissure, chanting. But their voices were wrong. Metallic. Reversed. When they turned to me, their eyes were… hollow. Like they'd been excavated." Orena's pen slashed across the journal, sketching jagged lines and frantic annotations. "They kept saying, 'You miscalculated. You didn't account for the bleed.' And then the tower—it didn't fall. It *unfolded*. Like an origami puzzle, layer after layer, until there was nothing left but a hole. A hole that… sang. It wasn't sound. It was pressure. Like my skull was a wineskin about to burst." She paused, sucking in a shuddering breath. When she spoke again, her voice dropped to a whisper. "I've read every treatise on oneiromancy, every case study on shared dreamscapes. Nothing explains this. Nothing." Her thumb brushed the journal's pages, smudging fresh ink. "But the leylines in both our dreams—corrupted, inverted. And the timing. All three of us waking at once? That's not coincidence. It's a pattern. A message." Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with a mix of terror and furious curiosity. "Whatever spoke to you, Borion—whatever showed me that… that perversion of my life's work—it's not just haunting us. It's experimenting. Testing thresholds. Probing fears." She clutched the journal to her chest, her next words barely audible. "And if it can warp dreams into weapons, what happens when it finds a way out?" A beat of silence. Then she stiffened, as if catching herself. "We need to document everything. Now. Before the details fade." She thrust the journal toward Gideon, her tone shifting to something brisk, almost clinical—a familiar armor against the rising fear. "Your turn. What did you see?" "Nav," Gideon said, with the single word, called forth his clockwork eidolon. The blue glow of flowing energy, *Gideon's* energy... *Gideon*? Yes, that was right. He was Gideon. He also knew he had been *other*, and the images of the dream flowed through his mind like the liquid blue power that gave Nav life. Gideon stared at the blank pages of Orena's journal, waiting to be filled with Gideon's memories—the same substance that fueled Nav. Something about it seemed wrong, to give away that precious resource. He couldn't place the reason for that reaction and summarily quashed it. "First things first, and as they say, 'Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but three times is enemy action'." "Before I recount what I saw, and seeing some similarities between our stories, I need to check something first." Gideon weighed his next thought before speaking. "...The fey are about, which may come as no surprise. I'm sure some of you have also taken note of the seemingly good fortune we've had traveling so far? Borion, you may recall the fey dragonling we ran into, Pervilash. The reason I bring this up is, when the fey get involved, we have to be wary of the things we see and sense." Gideon stood and turned to Nav. He extended a hand, palm up. "Nav, you've seen what I see, and my thoughts are a book before you. Show me my dead self. Show me leylines. Those people I abandoned. The deaths I was responsible for." Nav responded by extending a hand of his own, palm down. A teardrop of liquid power—memories—formed on the automaton's hand, pooling and growing until it fell into Gideon's own. "Let's see if this gives me any perspective, then I'll share my experience." The fire had dwindled to embers, casting jagged shadows across the clearing. Orena sat hunched over her journal, her quill darting across the page like a scavenger picking at bones. Her eyes flicked upward, sharp and restless, as Gideon shifted nearby. He stood facing Nav, the eidolon's brass-plated body glinting faintly in the gloom. She watched, silent, as Gideon's hand rose—a silent command. Nav's response was immediate, mechanical. A droplet of liquid light pooled in the eidolon's palm, quivering like mercury. Orena leaned forward, her quill frozen mid-sentence. The droplet fell into Gideon's outstretched hand, and the air shivered. Frost bloomed across Gideon's skin, crawling from his fingertips to his wrist. Orena's breath caught. She'd seen him channel magic before—crackling barriers, searing bolts—but this was *different*. Wrong. The frost didn't sparkle; it sucked at the light, leaving his hand mottled and gray, like a corpse's. Nav's gears ground louder, a dissonant chorus of clicks and whirs, and Orena's fingers tightened around her quill. *"What are you doing to him?"* she wanted to scream. But Gideon didn't flinch. His face was a mask, jaw clenched, eyes distant—locked in a conversation she couldn't hear. Nav's head tilted abruptly, his crystalline eyes flickering. A crack split the porcelain veneer of his cheek, oozing thin, iridescent smoke. Orena's notes dissolved into a scrawl: *—Eidolon integrity compromised. Cracks emit gaseous residue, possibly byproduct of unstable memory transference—* Gideon staggered. Just a step, barely perceptible, but Orena's muscles tensed as if to lunge. His free hand flew to his chest, clawing at the hollow glow beneath his tunic. Nav's arm spasmed, gears screeching, and the frost on Gideon's hand spread to his elbow. "Stop," Orena whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear her—not over whatever silent war raged between man and machine. Nav's voice, when it came, was mechanical, directed only at Gideon—but Orena saw the aftermath. The eidolon's jaw unhinged slightly, *too* wide, *too* fluid, and Gideon's reply was a hissed breath through clenched teeth: "I know." Orena's quill snapped. She didn't notice. Gideon's knees hit the ground. Nav loomed over him, cracks now branching across his torso, leaking smoke that stank of burnt copper. The frost reached Gideon's shoulder, his neck— Then, stillness. The droplet dissolved. Gideon slumped forward, gasping, the frost receding like a tide dragged backward. Nav's gears stuttered to a halt, his glow guttering like a dying star. Gideon took a moment to find his center again, firmly rooting himself to *this* time and place, and *this* name. He knew he would pay for his need to know, but curiosity was the true lifeblood of gnomes. "There is something here. A corruption? A being? Perhaps they are one and the same, or one brought forth the other. The dream we witnessed in tandem was a corruption of the truth. Things that *might* have happened. Twisted, though." Gideon looked to Nav and, with a small nod, sent him back to the other side to recuperate. "I saw visions of working on a leyline project. The absence of a long-term memory made the whole ordeal feel like I was watching someone else and not myself. I know that I was a 'self' before this one. We are the same, and we are separate, and that was the only reason I was willing to take back some of those memories from Nav." "I saw three events. The first was myself and some colleagues studying a leyline convergence. I suspect we are heading toward something similar now. The experiment promised... power?... arcane energy?... maybe something more abstract. Truth be told, I don't entirely know *what* we can achieve with such a store of power. Look to Nav and Maximus, being not of flesh and blood, but metal, and yet they live no different than ourselves. The power that gathers here may be the same that gives them life. Gives *us* life! If we had that to tap into!" Gideon jumped up, becoming more animated as the possibilities of having a raw power source of this magnitude to manipulate began to win out over his humility. "Pitax would be a stone in the road at worst!" Gideon sat at the edge of the near-dead fire and looked to the horizon to gauge the time until sunrise. "I think I'll stay up for the remainder of the night as well." Orena's quill moved in feverish arcs, ink splattering like bloodstains as Gideon's words spilled into the margins of her journal. Leyline convergence. Power source. Not flesh, not metal—*essence*. Her free hand twitched toward her own throat, where the ghost of dream-pressure still lingered. She watched Gideon's hands carve shapes in the air as he spoke of Pitax, his eyes reflecting the last embers of the fire—bright, reckless, alive. Her teeth sank into her lower lip. She'd read the treatises he hadn't, knew the names scratched from history: Karthain's Sundering, the Lattice Collapse of '73. Every attempt to harness leylines ended in ash and paradox. Yet here he stood, alight with the same hunger that had kept her awake for years, tracing equations on her bedroom walls. Her journal pages whispered as she flipped back to her own sketches—the breathing tower, the inverted leylines. She pressed a fingertip to a jagged annotation: *Recursive energy loops = self-devouring systems?* Gideon's description of a "corruption of the truth" coiled around the phrase like smoke. When he mentioned Nav's creation, her gaze snapped to the eidolon's cracked chassis. She'd noted the fractures earlier, the way Nav's glow dimmed whenever Gideon's voice faltered. Now she scribbled: *Symbiotic degradation? Eidolon as leyline cipher?* Her thumb brushed the page where she'd drawn her hollow-eyed colleagues. *Excavated*. The fire spat a final spark. Orena's breath hitched as shadows deepened around Gideon's silhouette, his gestures suddenly too large, too sharp. For a heartbeat, he wasn't Gideon—he was Dr. Erris in her dream, arms spread wide as the tower unfolded into nothing. *You miscalculated.*