"Ready for your world tour?"

Rory's voice cut through Thepa's thoughts like the soft breeze gently blowing over the South Wildehaven Sea. They had been sitting together, gazing out at the endless water, their silence comfortable. Thepa cherished these rare moments alone with her sister, free from the weight of titles and responsibilities. Any moment now, her mother would finish her meeting with the Wildehaven council, and Thepa would be whisked away. Together, they'd sail to Beachwick, then Goldale, to announce Thepa as Matriarch-in-waiting to the nations.

"I don't know," Thepa murmured, uncertainty flickering in her voice. "It's been so long since I've been with my people. I'm not sure they'll even accept me. Besides, it won't be the same without you. I've trained my whole life for this moment, but now that it's here, I feel... unprepared. And don't even get me started on how easy you make being a leader look."

Rory closed her eyes and smiled, the setting sun's rays creating a red hue that complemented the auburn of her hair. The wind blew a few locks that had escaped her haphazard braid, and Thepa watched as they fluttered back and forth. For a moment, Rory burrowed her green eyes in her crossed arms before looking up and smiling a toothless grin.

"Well, I guess I've learned from the best. Either that, or I magically grew up. Since we both know that didn't happen, let's just say it's all your fault." Rory's teased.

Thepa laughed, enjoying the moment. It had been a long time since Rory had been jovial with her, the responsibility of being High Priestess forcing her beyond her completions. Playfully, she teased back. "Finally! An explanation. Now that I know the problem, I can fix it and believe me, we need to fix it. At the rate we're going, it starting to look like Claudia was going to be the funny one. As much as I love that girl, I think we'll both die of boredom before hearing a decent joke. No offense to Claudia, of course."

"Oh, Thepa," Rory trailed off, grinning from ear to ear and shaking her head. She stood up, turning back towards the path that led to the orphanage. Thepa moved to follow, her eyes lingering for a moment on the red-tinted horizon as dusk crept in. Up the path, she could see her ancestral home in the distance, surrounded by twelve faceless matrons, each holding an unlit candle in their hand.

"...You used that joke last time." Rory said over her shoulder, her voice carrying through the growing twilight.

Thepa turned away from the matrons back to Rory as an uneasiness settled in her gut. "Last time?" she echoed.

Rory's smile lingered, but her voice took on a sharper edge. "Well, not exactly last time. I see how that could be confusing." She paused, turning fully now, her hair blazing in the last rays of the sun, loose from its braid and wild as if caught in flames. "Last time implies more than once. I'm talking about two completions ago. You know... when we actually had this conversation."

As Rory explained, Thepa noticed her mother walking towards them along the path that ran parallel to her ancestral home. The Matriarch wore a jeweled tiara that shimmered in the dim red light, and her face was set with determination. The twelve matrons paid her no mind, but as she passed by the home's foundation, a thirteenth matron emerged from its door - Sister Zelphina.

Thepa froze, dread seeping into her bones. Two completions ago? Her mind raced, grasping for clarity, but only a suffocating silence answered. Something was wrong. Something had to been wrong. "I'm sorry Rory, I'm not quite sure..."

"Oh, Thepa," Rory sighed, cutting through her confused words with a jagged tongue. "Poor, blind Thepa. Maybe if you had opened your eyes a little sooner, I might still be alive."

Thepa's heart hammered in her chest as she desperately tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding around her. She willed herself to move, to scream a warning, but her body betrayed her—frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. All she could do was watch in mounting horror as Zelphina advanced on her mother, while the twelve faceless matrons stood by, their hollow expressions offering no judgment, no mercy.

With a swift, almost effortless twist, Zelphina gripped the Matriarch by the horns and snapped her neck. The sickening crack rang in Thepa's ears, followed by the hollow thud of her mother's body collapsing to the ground, the jeweled tiara tumbling from her head. Zelphina scooped it up with a chilling malicious smile. Slowly, she set the crown upon her own head, as if seizing a perverse birthright.

"All your clever plans, your training, your schemes. And in the end, you did nothing when it mattered. You let me die, Thepa. Days passed, weeks even, and you had every chance to talk to me, to make things right. But instead, you hid. And when the Goblin King's spell came for me, you ducked and let it bind me to that wretched cave."

Thepa's body remained rigid, paralyzed by the nightmare that held her in its icy grip. Rory's voice clawed at her mind, her taunts growing louder, relentless. "You think you're ready to be Matriarch?" Rory scoffed. "You're not even ready to face your own failures."

Thepa's body continued to tense, paralyzed by the fear around her. She couldn't move, breathe or cry out. All she could do was watch the matrons' faceless stare in the distance, while Zelphina's approached, her footsteps grew louder and deliberate. Every step Zelphina took perfectly matched Rory's cadence, and by the time she said the word "cave," Zelphina was standing before her, waiting for permission to strike.

Rory's voice dropped to a cold, mocking whisper. "No one's coming to save you, Thepa. No one ever does. Not for someone like you."

Zelphina smiled wickedly, her hand sliding behind her back as she produced a gleaming dagger. Thepa hadn't noticed it before, but now the weapon gleamed menacingly, its circular hilt twisting between Zelphina's fingers, savoring the moment before the kill. She raised the dagger high, her face awashed in joy.

"Goodbye, my terrible sister," Rory said, fading from existence. "I guess you truly did miss your mark."

In a swift, cruel motion, Zelphina brought the dagger crashing down into Thepa's chest, piercing the small pendant Rory had wrapped in her letter. As it did, an intense blue light stirred Thepa from her sleep, and she coughed and sputtered, gasping for air.

The memory of the dream lingered in Thepa's mind, her heart pounding unevenly as she struggled to calm herself. She reminded herself over and over that it was just a dream—painfully lucid—but even that did little to ground her. To be certain, she pinched her thigh until the sting became unbearable. It wasn't that she doubted the current reality that sat before her, it was the mixture of past memories combined with current events that fatigued her so much so, she didn't trust herself.

The days following Rory's death had been a relentless storm of guilt, each one a reminder of her failures—not just as a leader, but as a friend, a confidant, and worst of all, a sister. After that tragic day, Thepa and the remaining members of Elite Team Zero returned to Goldale to report the devastating loss. There it was decreed a day of honor would be held in Rory's name, with plans for the ceremony to take place at Wildehaven's sacred temple of Chandeidra. But when the day came, the people Rory once called family were nowhere to be seen. Claudia had vanished, Einkidi and Draco were still on their covert mission, Mrs. Fox had passed away, and Gamma was missing. In the end, only a few high-ranking officials, the temple members, and what remained of the Elite Team stood in that hollowed space. After all that had happened, she couldn't call herself Rory's friend, let alone her sister. If anything, her dreams were a testament to her living reality.

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The day of the ceremony had been excruciating. As the temple echoed with somber prayers and dignified silence, Thepa had tried to hold her head high, to offer Rory the respect she deserved. But her grief gnawed at her, turning every moment into a struggle just to keep standing. She had worn the mask of strength, but inside, she was unraveling.

Afterward, Thepa retreated to her assigned chamber in the temple, desperate for solitude. She wanted space to reflect, to piece together the fragments of her broken heart. But even in her isolation, the weight of her guilt was unbearable. She replayed Rory's final moments in her mind over and over, as if searching for a way to rewrite the past, to undo what had been done.

For two days, sorrow consumed her completely. But when the pain became too much to bear, she made a decision—to flee. She left Wildehaven behind, descending deep into the underbelly of Goldale, where shadows thrived, and found the shadiest shaman she could. She paid him handsomely, asking for only one thing—to numb her. Thepa no longer wanted to feel. Day after day, a shaman named Griff followed her, weaving his magic to dull the sharp edges of her despair. Day after day, Thepa drifted further from reality.

Days bled into weeks. Thepa sank deeper and deeper into despair. She stopped eating and sleeping, barely able to function without the sweet magic Griff provided. Her once-sharp mind became foggy and slow. Her duties to Goldale became distant echoes, barely registering rout movements. Nothing mattered anymore—except the next hit. The next wave of numbness to shield her from the unbearable weight of reality.

She knew the path she was on was treacherous, that each step down it pushed her closer to the edge of oblivion. But stopping? That was out of the question. The thought of facing the world without Rory was a torment far worse than the slow death she was courting. So, she continued down the path of self-destruction, sinking further into darkness aggerating the wound with each passing incident.

Still, she had a job to do and at least some sense of sanity still existed inside her feeble mind. She knew Griff's presence—a shadowy figure always by her side—was raising suspicions. A high-ranking officer of the Goldale Guard couldn't be seen constantly in the company of a civilian. Her assignments took her across borders and into the heart of Senate chambers, where a man like Griff would stick out like a Kobalt dancing a jig on Goldale's third level. So, she devised a plan—one that required cunning, lies, and more than a little forgery. She made the elf her personal secretary and lied his way into the guard.

But as her life unraveled, so too did strange, unexplainable phenomena. A flicker of blue light started appearing in her periphery, first at random moments, like a glint catching the sun at impossible angles. At first, she brushed it off as a trick of Griff's magic, a side effect of the spells he wove to dull her senses. Then there were the dreams themselves. Their presence tortured her night after night, but Griff's magic kept her from feeling their effects. For that, she was grateful even if the small blue flashes sometimes made their way through the darkness.

There were times, though, when Griff's magic couldn't follow her. Secrecy had its limits, and certain situations demanded she stand alone. During a recent trial, she had been without him for days, and now, aboard the Arcadia, she was facing another stretch of isolation. Griff had cast a stronger dose before her departure, but she knew the numbing effects would wear off by midday, leaving her vulnerable to the creeping pain that lurked just below the surface. With a sigh, Thepa rose from her bed, her limbs heavy with the weight of oncoming clarity, and dressed for the day ahead.

As Thepa dressed, the sound of the Arcadia's engine echoed around her. The ship, if you could call it that, was an incredible feat of engineering the likes of which she had never seen. Somehow Lightmountian scientists had managed to harness the power of steam and create a flying machine that could soar through the skies without the aid of any avian creature.

The interior was as breathtaking as its mechanics. Intricate carvings adorned every surface, and the rich, plush furnishings were a stark contrast to the harsh world outside. Thepa had once dreamed of standing on the Arcadia's deck, feeling the wind whip through her hair as she soared through the skies. But now, even with the ship beneath her feet, the experience felt hollow. Griff's magic had drained the wonder from the world, and all she could do was float through it like a ghost.

Pulling on her uniform and adjusting her collar, Thepa made her way topside. The crisp air of the upper decks greeted her, but even that felt distant, muted. Two human figures stood near the port taffrail, their attention fixed on a pentagram-shaped platform raised off the bow of the ship. With a roll of her neck and a final check of her appearance, Thepa set her eyes on the pair and made her way toward them, determined to mask the emptiness within.

"Greetings, General Nel. President Skydane," Thepa said, her gaze lingering on the blue sky in the distance. "Is the exercise ready?"

General Nel gave her a warm smile. "Morning, Captain. I trust you slept well? I know how loud the engines can be."

Thepa lied smoothly—something she was becoming far too comfortable with. "Slept like a rock. Thank you. I appreciate—"

"—If you ladies are done exchanging pleasantries," President Skydane interrupted, "I'd like to get this show moving. Running this thing isn't cheap."

General Nel rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Forgive him, Captain. Father's always been short on patience. He's all about efficiency. Imagine the younglinghood."

Skydane fired back, "I was plenty fair, Nel. You weren't the easiest youngling either."

Thepa couldn't tell if their banter was light-hearted or if there was a sting beneath it. She opted to ignore it, taking a position flanking General Nel as her eyes turned toward the raised platform. From here, she could clearly see the five soldiers arranged in a pentagram formation, with a caged bugbear ominously placed in the center.

"Break it down for me," Thepa said, her voice void of emotion.

Nel gestured toward a Galak at the farthest point of the platform. Thepa studied him, noting the signature traits of a Youngling of the Plains. He was bulky. A mangy set of black hair largely obstructed his triangle like ears that protruded from the top of his head. His tail was thicker than most of the Galaks she had seen, but it was hard to tell from his prone position. "That's Tosh of Lightmount," Nel began. "He grew up on the streets after losing his family, like many Galaks, before being taken in by the Thieves Guild. He's a deadly hand with a dagger and one hell of a burglar—adaptable in any situation."

Thepa raised an eyebrow. "Like most Galaks?" she prodded.

"Not the time," Skydane cut in, his irritation clear.

Nel pressed on. "Next, Julius Buckley—a human from Swampspell with a reputation for mischief. He's not the best soldier, but there's something about him. His music... it's hypnotizing. Gets people to do what he wants without them realizing."

A sober Thepa might have wondered if there was anything more there, but in her current haze, she simply nodded.

"Then we have Yenry Riverberry," Nel continued. "A halfling from Wildehaven. Recent graduate of their Wizardry School. There's a rumor he's on secret orders to find Sergeant Major Silver of Wildehaven's Edlyn division. I suppose you've heard from her?"

"No," Thepa said flatly. Claudia's disappearance wasn't her concern, and even if it were, she wouldn't care—another consequence of Griff's magic.

"I see." Nel didn't press, moving to the next. "To Yenry's left is Matron Zuna. I believe you know her?"

Thepa did or at least knew of the satyr. They had never before interacted, but the Matrons were a close group. It was hard not to know of the formidable fighter who had risen to the rank of Sister Onna's second-in-command. While a more coherent Thepa might have seen Zuna's presence as a stroke of luck, she only acknowledged it with a curt nod.

"And lastly, Sergeant Wilran Stillfond from Clayborn," Nel said, pointing out the final soldier. "An elven cleric ferecly secretive of her deity. Like many, she was abandoned to the streets, but Prince Eleneros himself saw something in her and personally selected her."

Skydane spat bitterly. "Damn elf didn't know what he was holding onto, apparently."

Nel sighed, explaining in a calmer tone. "What he means is, of the five, Stillfond shows the most potential. Quick-witted, adaptable, strategic—she sees things others miss. She's the clear choice for team leader. In fact, her file reads much like yours."

Thepa registered the words but felt nothing. Not pride. Not recognition. Just an empty acknowledgment of a compliment she couldn't feel. "Alright then," she said, her voice cold. "Shall we begin?"

General Nel's fingers danced with sparks as she muttered a brief chant, touching her throat. With a booming voice that seemed to shake the very air around them, she commanded, "Wake up, worms! I don't have all day!"