Dear Diary,
Amarra has given us a new hope. A chance to end this conflict by restoring what was undone.
She came to me this evening, eyes alight with the thrill of discovery rather than the weight of war. She has devised a method to attune all four Elemental Hearts to a single user—me. It requires crafting a specific ring to act as a conduit. The shopping list, however, is formidable: an uncut diamond worth a thousand gold pieces, a fey creature (we have plenty of those, unfortunately), and the egg of a Foxant. According to Amarra’s maps, these creatures nest in the Lorewood, two days' travel north-east.
If I can do this—if I can wield the power of all four hearts—I can restore the ancient protective barrier around Keralon. I could push the fey back. I could lock the doors.
But before we can fix the lock, we had to see the house. We needed to know what has become of our city.
The intelligence we gathered was grim. Keralon is under martial law. The Knightly Circles—the Long Table, the Octant, all of them—have been abolished. There is only the King now. Those who swore direct fealty remain; the rest are gone. Fey now hold positions of power in the court and the city watch. The irony is bitter: the strict laws on magic items have been lifted, likely to facilitate the construction of massive ritual sites springing up near the city walls.
With my new archive, I dug into the mystical history of our monarch. The threads of magic paint a picture of a "Betrayer King," or perhaps a "King Betrayed." He seeks to unify a divided country, to build the greatest realm in existence. "Silver walls will shine with new light," the texts say. It sounds like a prophecy. It feels like a threat.
We had to see it for ourselves.
Early this morning, we teleported. I used my bond with my familiar—still trapped in the tomb of the First King within the city—as an anchor. Hayley cast *Seeming* to disguise us as commoners, and we materialized in the silence of the royal mausoleum.
The city was ghostly quiet. The great bridge was raised. The Opera House stood deserted. The Cathedral was empty. There was no heraldry, no banners of the old orders. Only fey, clad in armor, patrolling the streets of my former home like they owned the cobblestones.
We moved through the poorer districts toward the old cemetery. We were looking for the tomb of Sir Tibold, a knight from the era of the Leper’s Revolt. Alistan felt a pull here; the shield on the statue matched the design of his own.
Dadroz picked the ancient lock with insulting ease. Inside, the air was unnaturally cold. I opened my Third Eye and saw him—a ghost, resting in his coffin, a spectral gash across his chest. He was noble, bearded, and silent.
Alistan opened the coffin to release the spirit. The ghost reached out, trying to seize Alistan’s arm. I saw Alistan’s muscles tense as he resisted the possession, a battle of wills in the dark crypt. Then, realizing the spirit couldn't speak without a vessel, Alistan relaxed. He *allowed* it.
Sir Tibold spoke through Alistan’s lips. He told us of the Leper’s Revolt, led by the Alchemy Guild and a masked man named Vincent—the very same Vincent whose mask Gael now carries. It escalated into a civil war, a desperate assault on the palace. They failed, though they managed to kill the King's mage advisor, Cordival. Vincent scarred the King’s face—the mark his supposed descendant still bears.
Tibold confessed he broke his oath. Not for power, but for mercy. He found Vincent’s pregnant wife hiding in the chaos. Knowing she would be executed, he helped her escape. He died fighting his own brothers to buy her time.
He wasn't a traitor. He was a hero who made a hard choice. Liliana, with gentle solemnity, performed the rites to send him on to the next world.
We left the dead to check on the living. We scouted the ritual circles near the walls. They are heavily guarded by fey, who are affixing gems to the masonry. I cast *Arcane Eye* to study the geometry safely.
My blood ran cold. They aren't reinforcing the walls. They are dismantling the reality of them. The ritual is designed to dissolve the barrier between planes, shifting Keralon into a state of flux between the Material Plane and the Feywild. The only reason it's working is that the barrier is already dangerously thin.
The King doesn't just want to rule Keralon. He wants to rule a city that exists in two worlds.
We headed back to the harbor district. Rumors whispered that the dissident knights were being held in converted barracks there. We reached out to Sir Callos via a *Sending* spell. He is alive, imprisoned near the docks.
Dadroz and Gael scouted the perimeter, plotting the guard rotations. We have the layout. We have the target.
Everything is set for our first prison break.
— Luke