The Party Burns Down the Village

Greg is sitting in the dim interior of Frul’s son’s tree house, hunched over a tiny wooden table scattered with toy bricks. Faeriel sits across from him, cross-legged, her fingers absently stacking blocks into lopsided towers. She watches one collapse and says softly, “Sometimes I think I’m not supposed to be here. With you. With them. I keep waiting to be left behind.” Greg doesn’t look at her. He continues placing bricks, methodically. One red. One green. One blue. She studies his silence. “You ever feel that way?” Greg doesn’t answer. He presses another block down. His hands tremble. In his mind, he sees the faces of his family—blurred now—his wife, his daughter, a table not unlike this one. He tries to support Faeriel's stacked tower, but she refuses to accept his help. She asks him again about what he is pursuing. Greg does not answer. Faeriel doesn’t push. The only sound is the soft creak of the wood and the smell of Kilijan's cooking coming from the house.

In the vast whiteness of the Feywild snowfields, the party presses forward. On a distant hill, a solitary flame burns atop the snow. Drawn to it, the party ascends. As they near, the air stills, and each member is seized by a vision—a memory not entirely theirs, or maybe too real to be only dream. Weneon sees the child he killed—small, fragile. A hand is held out to him. A voice asks, "If you had to die to save a single child—and you knew that child would not go on to save the world—would you still give your life?" Kilijan stands before a scale, torn between the two things scaled a gear of knowledge or reaching back to his friends. "If you get what you seek, what will you lose in return?" Mycha is asked "Who did you turn your back on when you most needed to stay? He answers at last with the name Marla. Manasa hears Atlas's voice, and reluctantly admits: "He’s my brother." When the visions fade, the fire has gone out. In the distance, they see the Magen village hidden among cliffs and pale froststone.

They approach openly. Chissaya is already waiting with her soldiers. The party surrenders and is led to the heart of the village to meet Mazleth. He listens to their words, unmoved. “You murdered three of mine near Silverfall. And now you wish peace?” He pauses. “But I will grant it—if you come with me.” When Greg mentions to Kilijan the sacred site, Mazleth’s eyes narrow. “Soso…” he hisses. Realizing his betrayal, Mazleth orders Soso's execution on the spot. Greg intervenes, shielding him, and is struck down. He’s dragged to the medical tent, barely breathing. Meanwhile: Weneon is taken by soldiers to the sacred site. Kilijan, Manasa, and Mycha are locked in mammoth cages. Part 3: Breakout Weneon sits before the black stone door of the sacred site, whispering to it. In the village: Kilijan burns through his ropes, singes the cage bars, and camouflages himself as a Magen. Manasa breaks the lock with magical force, teleporting out. In the medical tent, Azara and Soso help Greg to his feet. Together, they slip past the guards. Manasa and Kilijan free Mycha, and the three recover their gear. Soso, risking everything, distracts Chissaya, giving the others the time they need.

Greg is the first to reach Weneon. The two quickly stage a distraction—Weneon smears blood across the door, hoping to bluff their way in. But the door responds on its own, glowing with a flickering blue light. Weneon hears a voice—Elminster’s voice—in his head: “The sacrifice is not a life. It is the memory of one.” Weneon takes a deep breath. He lets go of his grandfather’s memory. The door opens. Mazleth and his soldiers, approaching, melt into goo—as if undone by the cost of opening what they were longing for. Weneon enters. The rest of the party arrives moments later, and they descend into the dungeon.

Inside, they find a vast chamber of glass cages, each one filled with shimmering Ghost Oil. Within each cage floats a hibernating, naked Magen. Children’s drawings cover the walls. Greg pauses. A sharp pain hits his heel. In his boot: a wooden toy block. Hidden inside, a note from Faeriel: “I will always remember Oeble. The night. The music. The scent of the rain on the window. Yours, always. F.” Greg stares. He’s never been to Oeble. But he remembers now. Remembers being Ketojan in a former life. Remembers dying in Oeble, and the party that tried to save him. He turns to the others. For the first time, he recognizes them through Ketojan’s eyes.