Harahel sat in her small, dimly lit room, her thoughts swirling like a tempest within her mind. The choice before her weighed heavily on her heart. On one hand, there was the comfort and camaraderie of the bards' gathering at the theater, an opportunity to find solace in music and poetry. On the other hand, there was the burning urgency to confront Antioch, to find answers and save Taliesin from whatever danger might be lurking.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room, mirroring the turmoil in her thoughts. Harahel knew that her decision could have far-reaching consequences, and the weight of that responsibility pressed down on her shoulders.

She paced back and forth, her footsteps echoing in the quiet room. The invitation from Celia was tempting, a chance to temporarily escape the nagging worry that had consumed her. But each time she tried to imagine herself at the theater, her mind was drawn back to the dreams, the sense of danger, and the overwhelming need to take action.

With a determined exhale, Harahel made her choice. She couldn't ignore the pull of her instincts any longer. The urgency, the fear for Taliesin's safety, it all pointed her toward the abandoned temple of Valkas. 

Just before midnight, Harahel made her way to the temple, trying to remain calm despite the fear and uncertainty she felt inside. As she approached the entrance, she noticed that Valkas’s temple was in a state of disrepair, with crumbling walls and broken windows. It was clear that no one had been there for years.

Harahel took a deep breath and entered the temple, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The air was musty, and she could smell the faint scent of incense, a reminder of the temple's past glory. She walked down the dimly lit hallway, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Finally, she reached the end of the hallway, where a door stood ajar. She could hear whispers and murmurs coming from inside. Harahel pushed the door open and stepped inside. There she saw a sight that both intrigued and terrified her. The chamber was filled with disciples of Antioch, each group worshipping the deity in their unique way.

To her left, she saw the tricksters, dressed in animal pelts and adorned with the masks of foxes, coyotes, rabbits, monkeys, spiders, and ravens. They chanted and swayed to a rhythm that only they could hear, their eyes closed in deep concentration.

To her right, she saw the rouges, dressed in black leather and carrying daggers and throwing knives. They were engaged in a game of chance, throwing dice and coins onto the ground as they laughed and cheered.

In front of her, she saw the influencers, dressed in fine silk robes and jewels, engaged in a heated discussion about politics and power. They argued and debated with each other, trying to sway the opinions of those around them.

In the center of the room, she saw the fools, dressed in brightly colored motley and jester hats, dancing and performing acrobatics for the amusement of the others. They laughed and joked, their movements fluid and graceful. It was there she saw the fool who invited her. He was dancing on a broken throne in the middle of all his clowns. 

Harahel pushed her way through the crowd, her eyes fixed on the fool who had invited her. She could feel the eyes of the other disciples on her, but she tried to ignore them as she approached the dancing jester.

"Where is Antioch?" she demanded, her voice echoing through the chamber. The fool stopped his dance and turned to face her, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Why, my dear, you must be patient," he said, his voice playful. "Antioch cannot be summoned at will. He comes and goes as he pleases."

Harahel's frustration grew. She had come all this way, risking everything, and now this fool was playing games with her. She took a step closer to him, her eyes blazing with anger.

"I demand to see Antioch," she shouted. "Now!" 

The fool's smile widened, and suddenly he began to transform before her eyes. As Harahel watched in awe and fear, the fool's body began to twist and contort, as if something inside of him was trying to burst free. His skin became pale, and his hair turned black. His clothes started to shift and change, the bright colors of his motley replaced by dark, shadowy hues of black and burgundy, and his jester's hat became a hood. His face became a mask of shadows, and his eyes glowed with an eerie light.

He sat on the throne with fluid and graceful movements, like that of a predator stalking its prey. As his disciple bowed before him, his face twisted into a wicked grin, his present deep and menacing. 

"Very well," he said, his voice now deep and sinister. "You have summoned me, my love.”

"I should've known you wicked shapeshifter," Harahel said, her voice dripping with disgust.

"I am a little hurt that you didn't figure it out earlier," Antioch replied, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "After all we've been through, you couldn't see through the simplest disguise. Did I mean so little to you?" His words carried a hint of mischief as he taunted her.

"Do not pretend to be the victim here," Harahel retorted sharply.

"No, that role tonight will be played by my brother Taliesin," he replied with a mocking tone, his words laced with sarcasm. "The poor lad has seemed to have gone missing," he continued, a wicked gleam in his eye as he mentioned Taliesin's disappearance.

Harahel stood her ground, determined not to let Antioch intimidate her. "Where is Taliesin?" she demanded, her voice steady and firm.

Antioch's expression darkened. "What makes you think I have him?" he replied, his eyes narrowing.

Harahel didn't buy his act. She knew Antioch well enough to see through his lies. "Stop playing games with me, Trickster. I know you have him. I can feel it in my bones."

Antioch chuckled. "You always did have a knack for drama, my dear. But I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree. I have no idea where Taliesin is."

"You cry about how little you mean to me," Harahel exclaimed, her frustration boiling over. "Well, how little do I mean to you for you to continue this charade? I want the truth! You owe me that!" Her voice resonated with a blend of fury and anguish as she pressed Antioch for the truth.

Antioch simply laughed and waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, my dear Harahel, always so serious," he said with a hint of glee. "I'm afraid I don't owe you anything. And even if I did, what could you possibly do to me? I mean, I remember what you used to do to me.”

His followers began to laugh at her. Harahel clenched her fists, her anger boiling over. She grabs a stone from the ground and through at Antioch. 

The stone narrowly missed Antioch's head, his followers gasped, but he chuckled once more. "Now, now, my dear. “Violence won't solve anything," he said, still smirking. "You should know better than to come here and make accusations without any evidence."

Harahel seethed with anger. "I don't need evidence to know that you're involved in Taliesin's disappearance," she spat. "You've always been jealous of him, ever since I left you for him. And now he's gone, and you're the only one who stands to benefit from his absence."

Antioch's expression hardened, and his eyes flashed dangerously. "You're treading on dangerous ground, Harahel," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I suggest you leave now before things get ugly."

But Harahel refused to back down. "I won't leave until I get some answers," she said, her voice firm. "I know you had something to do with this, and I won't rest until I find out the truth.“ Antioch's lip twisted into a contemptuous snarl. "Very well," he said. "But don't say I didn't warn you." 

Harahel felt the air around her change. The disciples, who have been bowing, now turned to face her. Their eyes were now black and glowing, just like Antioch's, and they began to dance around her in a circle.

The tricksters began to chant, their voices rising and falling in an eerie, hypnotic rhythm. The rouges joined in, clapping and stomping their feet in time with the beat. The influencers started to sing, their voices rich and melodious, adding to the already mesmerizing atmosphere.

And the fools, oh, the fools! They leaped and tumbled, somersaulting and cartwheeling as if trying to outdo each other in their enthusiasm.

Harahel felt as if she were caught in a whirlwind of energy and emotion, her body swaying and moving to the music, her mind dizzy with the heady mix of fear and exhilaration.

As the dance continued, she felt herself losing control, surrendering to the power of Antioch and his disciples. She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the pulsating energy of the room.

When she opened her eyes again, she was not sure how much time had passed. The disciples had stopped dancing and returned to their respective corners of the temple.

She looked around and saw that Antioch was gone, leaving Harahel alone with her thoughts and suspicions.