I sat quietly in my room, letting the quiet hum of magic settle around me. The sword lay across the bed, glowing softly as it slowly attuned itself to my magic. The feeling was subtle but powerful—a silent connection forming between the feywild metal and my own wild magic. It was like the sword was learning me, and I was learning it. The intricate carvings seemed to shift and breathe with the magic in the air, almost as if they were alive.

As I rested, though, my mind kept drifting back to the conversation I’d had with Marcel. A part of me felt conflicted, like something deep inside was pulling me toward him. I had wanted to help him, even after everything he’d done. But another part of me—my mind, my reason—was constantly reminding me of how he’d used me, how his actions had hurt so many people, including Sybil. I couldn’t ignore that.

You got that right. Théoden’s voice came through our bond, steady and reassuring. If you helped him, it would only look bad on you.

I closed my eyes, the weight of his words settling in my chest. I know... I don't know... just the way he looked... I felt a bit guilty for it.

Remember, Maria, he has mind manipulation abilities, Théoden’s voice cut through my thoughts like a dagger, that was probably just part of it.

I nodded even though I knew he couldn’t see me. Yeah… I murmured softly, my thoughts drifting toward the way Marcel had looked when he asked for my help, the way his desperation had bled through. But Théoden was right—there was no way to ignore the fact that Marcel had the ability to manipulate minds. That could easily have been what I’d felt—the pull of his influence, wrapped up in his charm and hidden intentions.

The bond between Théoden and me fell silent for a brief moment, and I let the quiet envelop me again. The weight of everything—the death of Sybil, the choices everyone was making, the questions I had about where I stood—pressed on me like a heavy blanket.

Then, after a long pause, Théoden spoke again, his voice low and measured, as if considering his words carefully. You want to listen in on my talk with Crimson? See if it’s any different than the last one?

I hesitated for a moment. Théoden had been trying to get Crimson to talk for days now, but she remained tight-lipped, not giving him anything useful. His methods, while effective, hadn’t yielded much. But maybe today would be different.

Sure, I responded, knowing that he hadn’t had any luck with his talks so far. If there was any chance I could catch something useful, I wanted to know about it.

Théoden’s voice dropped an octave, his focus shifting as he began to establish a connection with me. I could feel him mentally preparing, reaching out to his prison where Crimson was held. He’d been keeping her in a magically fortified cell in one of the worst prisons Winterfall has to offer. A prison that has the majority of its cells below the ground, often leaving it's prisoners' to the torment of their surroundings.

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The bond between us hummed as I listened closely, focusing on the faint echoes of Théoden's voice as he called out to Crimson, who stood out of view. As thanks to the darkness, she was barely visible.

"Crimson..." Théoden muttered to only be followed by silence.

“I know you can hear me,” Théoden’s voice spoke, low and controlled, in my mind.

Crimson’s voice was like a cold breeze, distant but clear. “What? I've said what I have wanted. What more do you want?” That was true, she had spoken up a few times while in her cell, but her communication has been brief. Almost as if she was instructed to what to say.

Théoden’s tone didn’t change. “I just want answers. That's all.”

Crimson’s laugh was dry, almost bitter. “I told you enough haven't I? I don't know all of his plans, if that is what you are wanting. I just know what I was apart of. And I told you that.” And she did. She told us her part in Sybil's death and sneaking into my mother's will. Beyond that, she wouldn't tell us anything.

“I’ll ask you again, then,” Théoden said. “Why did you do it?”

There was a long pause before Crimson responded, and I could feel her reluctance through the bond. “I had my reasons. And I prefer not to tell them.”

Théoden’s voice grew sharper. “You are only making it worse on yourself, so why don’t you just tell me?” Théoden had promised her a bit of a lesser punishment if she had just come clean on everything, however she refused.

Her voice was quieter this time, tinged with something I couldn’t place. “No. I have my rights. And I don’t have to say another word. Besides, I am locked in here, who is keeping an eye on him.” It was almost as if it was a taunting us.

A chill ran through me at her words. There was something in the way she said it that made me uneasy.

Théoden pressed again, his voice colder now. “What do you mean?”

Crimson’s voice shifted, almost conspiratorial, as if she was leaning in closer to him. “I think you know…” her voice almost drifting into a cackle. A cackle that sent a chill down my spine.

The words hung in the air like an omen, leaving a heavy silence in the wake of her statement.

Théoden’s frustration flared, but his tone remained controlled. “I will get my answers eventually Crimson.” That was one thing Théoden was sure of, as long as he had her in prison he would eventually get answers for everything.

Her voice turned mocking, almost triumphant. “Sure you will Silver…” Crimson snarled as her voice was laced with hate, as she walked back to the wall of her cell.

The connection faltered for a moment, and then the bond between Théoden and me fell silent again. I felt a shiver run down my spine. As Crimson didn’t want to speak but seemed to warn us about something at the same time. I felt a bit confused and lost all at once.

Did you get that? I asked Théoden, my voice quieter now, my mind spinning from the conversation I’d just overheard.

Yeah. I did, Théoden replied, his thoughts heavy with frustration. And I don’t like it.

I let out a breath, feeling the tension that had built up between us both. We need to be careful. Marcel… he might be more dangerous than we realize. As if a warning from his own partner wasn’t enough, I knew we were going to be in over our heads.

Théoden didn’t respond right away. Instead, I could feel him retreating into his thoughts, processing the conversation. I sat there, in the quiet of my room, the weight of it all settling heavily in my chest. We were walking into a storm, and neither of us knew just how bad it was going to get.