With our meeting with Mother Geslin complete, we got to work. Castille and Dugan took care of the horses, laying out food for them, the party and Mother Geslin. We decided that Isla's staff made her look too much like a mage. With some reluctance on her end, she packed it away in Thor's saddlebags. Castille gave Isla her old sword belt and a spare dagger. Combined with her navy cloak, she fit the image of a rogue I pegged her for when we first met. As repayment for her magic lessons, I spent most of the afternoon walking her through the drills that were a part of my early training. With her focused mind, she took to the training quickly. She would be ready to spare if she kept practicing for a few weeks.

Our dinner was livelier than usual, with Mother Geslin as a guest. While the old woman had her quirks, she was a natural storyteller who entertained us with tales from her childhood. Back in the old days, Southsun was a thriving community that barely felt the curse's effects. Her stories taught us that the curse originated in the Brimspoke Mountains and slowly crept across the Dellends. For generations, the villagers of Southsun thought they were too far away to be affected. It was Mother Geslin's generation that saw their crops fail, their livestock die, and their children be born with defects.

Before the stories spoiled our dinner, Castille made us pack up early. After weeks of camping on the road, I couldn’t wait to sleep in a soft bed. We split off into our usual pairs, finding rooms on the house's second floor. By this point, it was normal for Isla and me to sleep beside each other, my feelings of disgust retreating to the back of my mind.

There was still an invisible line of propriety between us; Mrs. Dulldrey raised a gentleman. As I lay over the sheets with my hands behind my head, I turned to Isla. She was asleep, bundled under the bed’s covers. Between the dagger drills and filling up every container Mother Geslin could find with water, she had burned through a lot of will.

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Good for her. I couldn’t sleep. There was a door-shaped thorn sticking in my mind. In a village of broken doors and walls, that Sanctifier building was unscathed. What treasures did it contain? What secrets? Checking again that Isla was asleep, I slipped out of bed and changed into my clothes.

Sneaking out of the house was easy; Dugan and Castille seemed to enjoy their bed far more than me and Isla. I walked by Mother Geslin, who lay comatose on the first floor, full from her first proper meal in years. As I crept through the enlarged entrance, I conjured a ball of fire to light my way. The ball hovered just above my right hand as I navigated through the village to the Sanctifier building in the middle of town.

In the moonlight, the grey brick building was ominous, its thick, black door a portal to another plane. Holding my flame close to the door, I pulled my lockpick from the base of my top knot.

Cindra… Where are you right now? Are you safe?

A dumb question. She was more of a survivor than I could ever be. I slipped the lockpick into the keyhole. A proper lockpicking set would consist of at least one lockpick and a tension wrench. Cindra had taught me how to open locks with a single lockpick and, in return, I taught her Sin’s first two lessons. She was the only one who knew the truth. The only one I could open up to about my time in the Red Room. She was someone broken.

Just. Click. Like. Click. Me. Click.

With one last satisfying click, the door unlocked.

I pulled it open, unsure what awaited me on the other side.

Traps? Treasure? Mummified bodies?

It turns out the truth was stranger and more dangerous than I could ever imagine.