A soft breeze fluttered through the highlands, lifting the scent of ash and cinders. The once serene sky held traces of a storm long departed, like fading memories stitched in scarlet and orange hues. Shadows played across the rocky landscape, whispering secrets of the violent night, the echoes of destruction still reverberating across the charred ground.

Airlock was the first to stir among the broken bodies of his companions. His senses, disoriented by the unfamiliar quiet, registered the world around him in slow fragments—the burnt scent lingering in the air, the sharp pain echoing in his limbs, and the dull throbbing in his temples. He blinked, his vision adjusting to the light, finding himself on the precipice of a cliff. Beyond, the valley spread vast and untouched, but behind, in the direction they had come from, lay the splintered and blackened remains of something that had nearly brought death upon them.

His head turned, and in the dim morning light, a figure loomed above them—a silhouette draped in robes as black as a starless sky. The figure’s presence seemed to absorb the light around it, the darkness broken only by a pair of eyes, pale and storm-like, flecked with a cold, unyielding blue. Those eyes held a certain depth, as though they carried a thousand secrets, each one more unfathomable than the last.

Beside the hooded man stood a giant white wolf, its wings folding slowly like silk banners being gathered in. Its blue eyes carried a glint of gold, serene yet piercing. The great beast exuded an aura of quiet vigilance, the golden hints shimmering like forgotten sunlight. Atop the beast’s head perched a small crow, its feathers glossy black, its gaze sharp and intelligent, as if it too watched over the party with a certain knowing. The scene was otherworldly, and for a brief moment, Airlock felt as if he was caught between a dream and reality, unsure of what was real.

Airlock tried to push himself up, his arm trembling under the weight of his body, but the dark figure knelt beside him, steadying him without a word. The stranger's gloved hands were gentle despite their strength, his presence both unsettling and reassuring in equal measure.

“Where...?” Airlock's voice was hoarse, his throat dry, the words barely escaping his lips.

“You are safe now,” the stranger said, his voice a deep baritone that seemed to resonate like distant thunder, each syllable carrying an inexplicable weight. “I found you and brought you here.” The man's gaze moved across the others, still unconscious, scattered across the earth like fallen leaves. He raised a hand towards the white wolf. “Me and Spereto have healed you all.”

Spereto’s eyes met Airlock's, and the wolf slightly bowed its head. The crow cawed softly, almost in response to the man’s words. Airlock nodded weakly, the details of the stranger’s words lost in his half-conscious state, but the sincerity was undeniable. There was no malice here, only the weight of secrets unspoken, a sense of something far greater at play.

Slowly, the others began to stir—Marnie with her silvered hair catching the first glimmers of the sun, Barakas groaning as he shifted, his face contorted in confusion and annoyance. Ereshkigal was last, her expression blank, even as she took in the stranger with cautious eyes, her undead companion, Than, creeping into her lap. The black cat’s presence, silent and still, added an eerie quality to the scene, its ghostly eyes watching the stranger intently.

“Who are you?” Marnie’s voice broke the silence, her keen gaze fixed on the man, her tone both wary and curious.

“Trivia,” the stranger replied simply, his eyes lingering on each of them as if taking their measure. “I have seen the storm that took you—and it has now taken someone from you.” He paused, looking down, as if weighing his words. “Your General, Dramor, is gone.”

A shocked silence fell over them, heavy and suffocating. Ereshkigal’s brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing. She could have guessed it, in fact, she did so when the meteor was about to fall-- Dramor has died for them to live, so she thought. Airlock swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as if it sought to deny what he had just heard. The words echoed in his mind, refusing to settle.

“Gone?” Marnie whispered, her voice barely audible. “Dead?”

Trivia turned his gaze to her, and his lips tightened into a line. “Not dead. Taken.” He looked towards the valley below, his expression darkening. “If you seek answers, you will find them in Multires City. But tread carefully—Tunderians have claimed the city as their own."

Airlock’s confusion only seemed to deepen, and yet amidst the fear and the loss, a flicker of determination sparked within him. He looked at Trivia, his gaze meeting those storm-like eyes, trying to understand the stranger’s intentions.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you help us?”

Trivia turned his eyes to the horizon, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips, one that spoke of a thousand mysteries. His gaze held a mix of sorrow and amusement, as though he found something profoundly ironic in the situation.

“Perhaps,” he mused, “the gods were watching over you. Aren’t you lucky?” His voice held a teasing lilt, yet there was something unspoken beneath it—a deeper, more enigmatic reason he chose not to share.

The journey towards Multires City was solemn. The trail wound through the rocky highlands, past the scorched remnants of old, abandoned watchtowers, and through gnarled forests that whispered in voices too ancient to understand. The landscape bore the scars of past conflicts, and the further they traveled, the more oppressive the silence became. The weight of their loss seemed to press down on them with each step.

Airlock could not stop asking questions, his curiosity as endless as the horizon. He walked beside Trivia, his voice breaking the silence as they moved. “What do you know of the General?” “Why were you there when the meteor struck?” " How did you find us?"

Trivia would answer none of them, his gaze always fixed ahead. His eyes would twinkle with some distant mirth, but there was always a darkness beneath that light, a sadness that seemed to flow beneath his words like an underground river.

Barakas, meanwhile, kept shooting daggers at Ereshkigal, his anger simmering beneath a brittle surface. “You could've done something back there, instead of electrocuting me--!” he snapped at her, his voice dripping with frustration.

Ereshkigal’s expression did not falter, her eyes cold and indifferent. She barely acknowledged him, only urging Thán forward whenever Barakas spoke, the black cat keeping pace with her, its ghostly eyes as unfeeling as hers yet keeping watch on the threat that was the Tiefling. Marnie watched the exchange silently, her concern growing, though she said nothing. It was strange, she thought, how Ereshkigal seemed accustomed to this kind of treatment—.

“You said the General was dead. How do you know?” Ereshkigal suddenly asked, her voice cutting through the air like the edge of a knife. Her gaze, sharp and questioning, pinned Trivia to the spot, forcing him to look at her. There was a fierceness in her eyes, a demand for answers.

" I haven't said he was dead. " He would correct her, only then sighed, shaking his head. “But, know this,” he muttered. “Curiosity… truly did kill the cat.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, and he looked away, unwilling to offer more. His words left a chill in the air, a reminder of the dangers they faced and the secrets he held close. " So, in other words, he's dead. You could have just said it. " Barakas would point out at the flaw.

The towering gates of Multires City soon loomed before them, guarded by soldiers in crimson armor bearing the insignia of Tundra. The city was a stark reminder of the enemy's power—its walls high and unyielding, its streets filled with the presence of those who had taken it. Trivia had warned them—they could not simply enter the city, not in their current state.

The group gathered near a cluster of trees just beyond the city's edge, their eyes scanning the intimidating walls. They spoke in hushed tones, their expressions tense as they planned their entrance.

“We need disguises,” Trivia stated simply, his eyes glancing over each of them. “Marnie, Airlock—you two should use your illusion spells.”

Marnie nodded, closing her eyes briefly as she murmured the incantation. In an instant, her copper hair was replaced by dull brown locks, her elegant attire now that of a humble baker. Airlock followed suit, his garments shifting into those of a gardener, dirt stains and all. The magic worked seamlessly, transforming their appearances into ones that would blend easily into the city's everyday life.

Barakas adjusted his cloak  “I can pass as a clergyman. I know the layout of Multires, and I can guide us to where we need to go.”

Trivia nodded in approval. “Good. I’ll blend in easily enough. Looking homeless and all.” His gaze then turned to Ereshkigal, who stood with her arms crossed, her undead cat, Thán, curled at her feet, purring.

Ereshkigal raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Guess, that only leaves me, I suppose.” her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Trivia replied. “Think simple. We can't risk anyone noticing your... unique appearance.”

Ereshkigal sighed, her eyes scanning the nearby buildings. Her gaze settled on an old townhouse, the windows darkened, and she could just make out the faint snoring of its inhabitant. She turned back to the group, her smirk widening. “I’ll be right back.”

Everyone paused, their eyes following her as she moved toward the worn, creaking door of the house. The door let out a low groan as she slipped inside, and a hush settled over the group, as if the house itself had swallowed their words.

Airlock broke it with a grin that spread slowly across his face. He leaned in, his voice dripping with mischief as he looked at Barakas. "Fifty gold coins says she comes out of there with at least a dress." he said, his eyebrow cocked in challenge.

Barakas let out a snort, his tusks glinting in the fading sunlight. "A dress? She's more likely to come out dragging a chest full of cobwebs and old boots." He reached into his pouch, the clink of coins ringing out. "But you're on, Airlock. Fifty gold it is." Marnie only sighed, and as she did, Trivia was to question, a certain amusement trailing on his tone " Are they always like this ?"