Once Tad had—quite literally—disappeared, there was a general baffled silence among the remaining Golden Lions.

"He just...went," Georgina muttered. "No waiting, off he toddles like a solitary cloud. Coulda sent Kufko with 'im or sommat."

Dashiell stared into the space Tad had occupied only a moment ago, looking all the realm like he wanted to disagree with Tad's spontaneity, but unable to find a physical form to debate.

Garrick chuckled, and removed Ember from her resting place as he began digging in his pack.

May as well get comfortable, he thought. Stealth is a time consuming business.

The fox, bleary-eyed from her slumber, blinked, looking around as though she was uncertain as to where she was—which was likely the case. She'd been sleeping all morning, and Garrick hadn't had the heart to wake her. Though, now that she was awake, it only took her a few beats to begin trotting around like a particularly excitable pony, exploring the area around them.

"Don't go beyond the scope of that boulder, Ember," Garrick warned. "We're being sneak thieves at the moment, and we don't want to be spotted."

Ember looked back at him, then turned away and began rolling around in the grass. Garrick wasn't concerned. Ember knew well enough how important it was to keep the group cohesive—and it was almost instinctive. He noticed she'd move close to the edge of their blind spot from the ruin entrance, but never beyond.

You're a wonder, Ember.

While Dashiell appeared to be gravely calculating his missteps in life, Garrick noticed as Kerd nudged Fran. She looked up at him in confusion briefly. Then Kerd's pointed look apparently unlocked something of a lightbulb moment. Garrick was amused by this interaction, not only for its oddity, but because the two were displaying a sense of how long they had worked together—in that they could convey so much with so little.

Fran suddenly stilled herself, taking a few deep breaths. Then, Garrick was surprised to feel a swell in the air as she began gathering the threads of her mantle with the quiet focus of an artist before a canvas. Her stance was grounded, and Garrick felt it when she turned inward, reaching for the wellspring of her power.

So, a Chant… he paused, trying to identify the sensation. Wilderness Discipline…that much is clear.

He considered that it had been easy to tell at least one of her established Disciplines was Wilderness—she was a Warden after all. Her mantle, of course, gave much of that away. But, he was interested to see which Strand she was going to employ.

Perhaps Air? She did take that deep brea—

Over the top of the usual ozone smell one might expect with astaran Chants, there was suddenly something else. A smell of brine and a sensation of rocking waves.

Ah, water, he mused. That is unexpected. Is she perhaps going to use something similar to Albright's Moisture Tracker Chant?

Garrick realized he hadn't thought about his morose and constantly-complaining former party member in a long time, and he felt a pang of guilt.

I should endeavor to never forget those friends who are gone, he thought.

Though, this was not out of a tradition of remembrance simply to keep one's memory alive; no, Garrick was more concerned that if he went too long ignoring the man, Albright would try and haunt him.

A ghost would be inconvenient. Especially one with so many…opinions.

Fran's hands moved with deliberate grace, tracing patterns that hung in the air, glowing faintly with the azure-and-hint-of-canary light of her mantle.

My, this is a long one, Garrick thought.

To be fair, all of this had so far only taken around three seconds, but that would be considered on the slower side of a Chant for the usual bearing her Sphere commanded.

We'll have to have the 'astaran conservation' talk, at some point.

Fran's tattoos flashed briefly—something the old man found to be a charming side effect of being a gloam elf—and then, as if born from the very air, a bubble coalesced in front of her, its surface shimmering. It was a simple spherical thing, yet it held within it the complexity of…vision.

Ah, Garrick realized. A Viewfinder Chant.

He wasn't sure what this one in particular was called, but now that the astara had settled, and Fran relaxed her posture, Garrick could sense the telltale signs of a Chant designed to be a window to places distant and near. The bubble hovered, floating merrily for a moment before the scene within it cleared, and everyone could take witness.

Inside the bubble, the scene began to shift, flickering like the first hesitant frames of a silent film before settling into a steady picture.

Ah, we can see what he's seeing.

There, through Tad's eyes—or, more accurately, through the mystical window Fran had conjured—they watched as he deftly navigated the terrain leading up to the ruins. The Marrow Ogres, hulking and unsuspecting, loomed at the entrance, their backs to what Garrick would consider the 'camera-eye' view, their thick, grayish skin covered in gnarled scars and moss-like growths, with horns curving back from their skulls like sinister crowns. A tension, albeit a second-hand one, settled over the group as they observed Tad's approach, the grass and pebbles underfoot blessedly betraying no sound.

Then the view switched, and it showed the boulder they'd stowed behind. Garrick, with the contentment of a cat in a sunbeam, appreciated Tad's glance back towards their hiding spot—a check-in that spoke of, perhaps, a burgeoning team spirit? Whatever it was, Tad was more careful than he appeared at first. Then, with a swivel that would have been dizzying had it been real, the view turned back to the dark maw of the entrance and proceeded past the ogres and into the gloom.

Kerd and Georgina leaned in closer, as if proximity to the bubble might lend their eyes better acuity in the darkness. That's when the collective realization hit.

"Why's it gone all black?" Kerd's wondered, his confusion clear.

Dashiell, with a sigh that carried all the weight of the world, rubbed his temples.

"It appears that he…cannot see in the dark," he explained.

A chorus of groans filled the air.

The bubble, meanwhile, continued to show nothing but undulating darkness, which Garrick suspected might perhaps be a metaphor for their current situation.

Ever the optimist, though, the old man couldn't help but chuckle softly. Seizing the moment with the grace of a socialite at a garden party, he elegantly steered the gathering's attention towards an equally important adventure.

“Alright. Anyone want lunch?” he proposed.

Kerd, who’d apparently never met a meal he didn’t like, was the personification of enthusiasm.

"Lead me to the feast!" he said…in as quiet of a voice as he could.

"I could murder a sandwich," Georgina chimed in.

"Suppose if we're just waiting, it wouldn't be too much of an issue…" Dashiell said.

"Excellent," Garrick beamed, and with a flourish, began producing an assortment of edibles from his pack. "Fran, would you mind floating the all-seeing bubble this way? We wouldn’t want to miss the show in case anything happens."

Fran, nodded, guiding the orb toward where Garrick sat with a gesture.

Ember, having heard one of her favorite words of all time, 'lunch,' was already next to Garrick's boot, looking up at him eagerly, swishing her tail.

Kufko, who'd been performing his usual party trick of remaining voiceless, silently observed the vulpid. Garrick realized this was likely the first time he'd ever seen her. Then, with a start, he considered that, other than Dashiell, almost none here even knew of her existence.

I should have more properly planned for this eventuality, he thought. I didn't even ask if anyone had allergies.

"Where'd that come from?" Kerd asked, pointing at Ember.

"The geezer's pack, I think," Georgina said, shrugging and reaching for a one of the jerked beef strips Garrick had politely provided. "Cutie little 'un, ain't it?"

Kerd nodded, smiling at Ember, before reaching for a wedge of cheese.

Ember, meanwhile, was dogged in her fixation, refusing to look away from Garrick until she received a morsel of food. The intensity of her gaze was impressive, and Garrick wasn't even sure if she blinked. He chuckled and handed her a special treat: a piece of potato he'd stored in his satchel from the Sizzling Skillet the day before. She pounced on it eagerly, and it was gone in a flash.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As they nestled into the embrace of the earth, Garrick, with care, continued to unpack the provisions he had so meticulously prepared.

First came the jerked beef, cut into generous strips that held the promise of smoky flavors and a satisfying chew. Alongside these, he presented several portions of the same spiced meat, but in stick form. These savory treats, cured and seasoned with a blend of herbs known only to Garrick (salt, garlic, pepper, a dash of cinnamon, and ground-to-powder seeds from a spicy plant called a wygg) were enough to make mouths water in anticipation.

There were multiple wedges of cheese, their rinds a testament to their age and quality. Each piece, Garrick knew, brought a burst of creamy, tangy delight that would melt upon the tongue, a perfect counterbalance to the smoky meat.

Garrick then produced a small loaf of bread that he'd swiped from Lord Montrose's breakfast table when he wasn't looking. Its crust was golden and inviting, promising to be the perfect vessel for the meats and cheese. Its soft interior was just waiting to be torn and shared—or perhaps just a solo entree (if he was feeling particularly famished and selfish. )

Lastly, from his satchel this time, he brought forth a singular large tomato, its skin taut and glossy under the sun. With a knife that had seen many a meal prepared in the wilds (and the inside of a few stuck belt buckles,) Garrick set about slicing it into even segments, offering a piece to each of his companions.

Then they all tucked in—even Kufko, who nibbled on his tomato thoughtfully while staring at Ember.

Garrick kept a watchful eye on the assortment of vittles—and his senses to the ruins—using a meat stick to gesture towards the bubble.

“Speculations on Tad’s forthcoming predicament?” he mused, his query floating among them, inviting speculation.

He was worried that would sound a little mean-spirited, but it was more of an exploratory question to see what his companions thought of the man than any true comment on the…other world person.

Do they even have a name for people like us? Garrick wondered. Suppose it's unique enough of a happening that there wouldn't be. Maybe I should come up with one…?

Kerd, mid-chew on a hunk of cheese, paused to contemplate.

"Do you reckon he's pondering the, uh, existentialism of the darkness?" he wondered, "or just cursing because he can't find a torch?"

"Man like that?" Georgina offered. "Nah, he ain't the type to dwell on his misfortunes, is he? Last week an errant bolt from a crossbow took his hat right offa his head and the man just shrugged and went back to trimming his toe nails. Prob'ly lookin' at this like a fun challenge, most like."

"I do hope his exploration yields something at the very least," Dashiell said. "The alternative will be to…"

He trailed off, the implication being that they'd likely be required to bash their way in. Kerd, however, seemed to jump at the prospect, flexing his arms.

"Just say the word," he muttered around a mouthful of cheese.

“I meant to ask…" Garrick began, giving Kerd an appraising look. "Are you from Hantorz?"

The big man looked surprised, but then a gigantic grin split his face. He swallowed his cheese and puffed his chest out.

“Dzek klaiva!” He nearly boomed in a language that was not Bastion Provincial Standard.

Garrick blinked at him.

“I, uh, don’t speak the tongue,” he admitted. "But I recognize it when I hear it."

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir!” Kerd continued. “Was hoping too hard, ‘suppose! But, yeah, I’m Hantorza. Good eye!”

Garrick chuckled softly, "I've spent some time in Hantorz myself. Seen the Prekiviika Ridges with my own eyes—a great people, the Hantorza.”

Kerd beamed.

“Truth upon truth,” he said, which Garrick recognized as the traditional formal acknowledgement among many of the tribes of his people. “How long did you entertain my beautiful homeland, if you don’t mind saying, sir?”

Garrick considered, chewing on his lip for a moment.

“I would say…over a year—though I’m not sure exactly how much time. There was a lot going on, and time has a way of escaping when you're off on a venture."

Fran tilted her head questioningly.

"What took you to Hantorz?"

Garrick nodded.

"Well…back then, a Beacon could be traded temporarily to a neighboring Province or territory to be of additional assistance—if such a thing were necessary. Even had the privilege of joining forces with the famous Hantorza Beacon, Serj, for a time."

Kerd's eyes lit up.

"Serj? Serj was my father's uncle! He's a legend in my family.”

“Serj is a legend everywhere,” Dashiell said with a smile. “A good name to have in your familial line.”

Kerd nodded proudly at this.

“I grew up hearing tales of Serj’s exploits. How did you come to fight alongside him?"

"There's a story for every mile I've traveled," Garrick replied, coyly. "Serj and I crossed paths during a skirmish against a band of marauders threatening a village near the Utann Expanse.”

“Ergama,” Kerd said, nodding. “I know it.”

Garrick broke another piece from his own wedge of cheese and fed it to Ember before continuing.

“Ergama, yes. That was where I observed the Hantorza Battle Gatta firsthand. But what intrigued me most was how Serj had modified the traditional style."

Kerd leaned in, clearly captivated.

"Modified it? Never heard that part. How so?"

"Serj had a unique approach," Garrick explained. "He incorporated elements of the Seven Root style from the Hynelander Pilgrims into the Gatta. The Seven Root style focuses on grounding and fluidity, drawing strength from earth astara. It's a style that emphasizes balance, precision, and the redirection of force."

Kerd seemed to devour every word as hungrily as he did the food.

"It allowed him to be, for lack of better terms, both immovable as a mountain and as unpredictable as the wind,” Garrick continued. “He could transition from a powerful offensive to a fluid defensive stance in the blink of an eye. It was intimidating to behold."

"Amazing!" Kerd said, spraying food with his proclamation.

Fran wrinkled her nose at him.

"Getting bits on me again," she said, finishing her tomato with a scowl.

"Sorry, Fran," he said.

"Ain't got a manner to your name," Georgina scoffed, but Garrick noticed she had breadcrumbs all down the front of her.

Kerd gestured with a jerked meat stick, waving it about like a wand.

“In Hantorz, sloppy eating of a meal is a compliment to the chef what prepared it!” He said proudly.

Garrick considered this, recalling the nearly obscene display he’d encountered during meals while he was in Kerd’s homeland, and smiled fondly.

“Yours is a mysterious and storied people,” he said.

“No we aren’t,” Kerd objected with a laugh. “Just like a bit of a mess, is all.”

There was a general murmur of laughter at Kerd's comment, before Garrick felt a ripple of sensation.

The ruins, he noted.

Kufko made a few snapping sounds, drawing the attention of everyone to the bubble Fran was holding aloft.

As they turned their gazes back to the bubble, the dim interior of the ruins was suddenly illuminated by the flickering light of torches. Within this newly lit scene, they could see seven hobgoblins standing in a circular formation within a cavernous section the old formation. Each creature moved with a purpose that seemed to speak of dark intentions yet possessed a crude, martial discipline that was all too unsettling. One brandished a staff, its skull adornment bathed in a light not of this world, while another's armor, a macabre assemblage of bone, seemed to whisper tales of sorrow and despair. Their skin, a palette of dark greens and sickly yellows, glimmered under the torchlight, their eyes embers in the gloom.

"That…doesn't look good," Georgina said.

Garrick agreed, especially considering it was beginning to look startlingly familiar.

It couldn't be, though… he reasoned. Could it?

That was a worrisome thought.

As Tad, or rather, the viewpoint they were all sharing through the astaran bubble, inched closer, the hobgoblins remained oblivious, their attention focused inward on the circle they formed. It was clear they hadn't noticed his presence. Around the bubble, speculation ran rampant, but not from Garrick. He watched intently, a furrow forming between his brows as the scene unfolded. Ember, sensing something was amiss with the old man, moved into his lap, as if to peer into Fran's summoned bubble as well. Her tail flicked to and fro nervously.

Finally, Tad got close enough for things to become clear. In the circle of light cast by the torches, there was a creature—something utterly twisted and deeply unsettling. It was a small, pulsating mass, its surface slick and glistening like oil on water. Veins, dark and pronounced, ran across its form, branching out into the air with a life of their own. The creature seemed to throb with a sinister rhythm. Its presence alone was enough to chill the marrow, casting a shadow that felt both ancient and ominously alive.

Kerd, unable to contain his shock, blurted out, "What in the hells is that?"

At the same moment, Georgina and Garrick said, "Fiend embryo."

They then turned to look at one another in recognition. The rest of the group, taken aback by the simultaneous identification, looked between Garrick and Georgina for further explanation.

Garrick, his voice a low rumble of contained urgency, explained, "A Fiend embryo is the genesis of pure evil, cultivated in our realm only to blossom into a terror upon maturity…"

"A full-fledged Fiend," Georgina finished for him. "I stumbled into one when I were a wee girl, not five summers yet. Fortunately, a rovin' band of wanderers dispatched it afore it could do damage."

For Garrick, this was a grim scene from a chapter of his life he'd hoped closed. Fiend embryos, those nascent wells of malice, had once been a more frequent sight in his battles against the darkness. Yet, the creature at the heart of the hobgoblins' circle struck a discordant note in his memory.

It can't be…

"A Fiend embryo?" Dashiell wondered. "But, how?"

"Aren't Fiends…gone?" Kerd asked, horrified. "Your lot killed their king, I'd thought?"

He'd directed this last comment at Garrick.

"Imperial Fiend Lord," the old man corrected, putting a comforting hand on Ember. "But, you are right. It should be impossible that there'd be any with the power to make their way back to this plane."

In his mind's eye, he could see Rasterion, wings spread wide enough to blot out the sky.

"You cannot kill me."

At the time, that had seemed like a rebuke of their efforts, but…was it simply a statement of fact?

"Well, what are they doing with one o' them?" Kerd demanded, pointing at the shape in the center of the circle, what was essentially a savage, evil pupa.

"I recognize the configuration," Garrick said somberly. "I hadn't wanted to believe it, but it appears as if they're using it as some sort of focus."

"For what?" Fran asked.

"Could be trying to open a rift," Georgina offered, "call something through..."

Garrick didn't have time to be impressed by the woman's knowledge of their natures, though he wanted to. Time was of the essence. He cleared his throat.

"Such beings are not merely dangerous; they are cataclysms waiting to unfurl. We need to—"

Dashiell stood suddenly, interrupting him.

"This ceremony cannot reach its completion. The consequences would reverberate beyond these ruins, a blight upon the land."

He swept a hand through the air, and there was a charge of astara. Suddenly, the colossal sarissa Accolade was in his hand, longer than he was tall. In that moment, Garrick couldn't help but be reminded of someone from his past.

Seems your descendants are going to be just fine, Ylvia, he thought proudly. That is…if he survives this.

"Our course is clear," Dashiell said, the aura he projected suddenly confident and assured. "We must act, decisively and without hesitation. The ceremony must be disrupted, the embryo contained. The threat it poses is too great to ignore. Golden Lions…"

As one, they stood quickly—save for Garrick, who slowly rose after depositing Ember back on the ground.

"Let us enter this ruin," Dashiell finished.

Kerd pumped a fist.

"Finally, some action!"

Fran's voice, steady and calm, reaffirmed their shared resolve.

"Silence and speed are our allies. We know our enemy, their number, and their purpose. Together, we move as one shadow."

Georgina began gathering her astara, her mantle flaring subtly. Kufko, who'd been listening to them all, simply checked the buckles on his shoulder straps, and flexed his hands, the claw-like nails on each finger protruding more.

"Ember, you wait here," Garrick said, ignoring the offended look she tossed him. "We need someone to watch our belongings."

This seemed to ameliorate her, and she quietly padded over to an errant wedge of cheese and plopped down, nibbling on it.

Attagirl, Garrick thought. Can't let you accidentally add to the power of whatever ritual they're performing down there.

"Everyone," Dashiell began, "be at the ready, we will be facing horrors, perchance, and I cannot let—"

A series of loud finger snaps interrupted the young Montrose. Kufko had alerted them again, and was pointing to the bubble that all seemed to have forgotten about. Everyone turned to view it, to an unsettling sight.

"Oh, no…" Georgina gasped.

The view inside the bubble had changed. It was no longer showing the hobgoblins facing the inside of the circle. Now, each and every one of the creatures had turned, looking directly at them—at Tad.

He'd been discovered, and now, seven hobgoblins were advancing on him.