33 Setum, 1190 -- The night of the broken crystal. Akiran, Lilliana, Thezra, and Thrandimir are returned to the main hall where Ember waits, still muzzled. The questioning had gone quite simply, all things told. Each member of the party had been led to a separate room Lord Protector Darian had asked each of them one question: Do you remember the forgotten city? Katrin does not return. Ascian has not been heard from since he disappeared from the table. Lord Protector Darian returns to the hall a few minutes later. "You are all free to go," he says. Katrin's cell is clean, but small. Her wrists are shackled together, but she's not tied to the ground and is free to move around. The moonlight streams through the barred windows near the ceiling. A clatter of noise down the corridor that joins her cell to others pushes her to a sitting position. Clatters resolve into footsteps and King Darius comes around the corner, accompanied by two guards. One guard opens the cell door, and Darius steps in. "Katrin. I'm sorry for this, but it's the only way to keep you and others safe," he says. Katrin looks down at her bound hands, over at the window, and then back at the king. "Yeah," she says. "Safe. Safe from what?" "From the knowledge you now possess," he says. "It's dangerous." "Because I know about a city on a map, it's dangerous," Katrin says. "How?" "You're not old enough to remember," he says. "When he killed that city. But if you tell the wrong person, you could start a mass panic from here to Baervale and back." Katrin cocks her head. "Who? Who are you talking about?" The king replies, "If you don't know, it's best it stays that way." He turns back toward the open cell door. "We'll keep you here until we can repair the enchantment, and then we'll make you forget again. Trust me, it's better this way." "Fuck you," Katrin says. The guards take a step forward, but Darius waves them off. "Who says it's better to forget?" The king looks back at Katrin, his expression a mask of anger and sorrow and frustration. Eventually, his gaze hardens. "I do," he says, and walks away. The door is closed, and the guards walk away down the hallway, following their ruler. The world around Ascian whirls back into existence, revealing a small, run-down barn. The area around is dark, but Ascian can see a horse, several piles of hay, and a couple of bedrolls made up in the corner in the purple light of Marianne's spell. "What were you thinking?" she says, her voice a low hiss still. Asican stumbles a few steps back, trying to acclimate not just to his surroundings, but the fact that despite expecting imprisonment he's seemingly nowhere near the castle at all. "I don't – it was calling to me. I didn't know what would happen. Just that I was helping him." "Him? Him who?" Marianne asks. ”Casimir. My brother. And Faerus. They were trapped.” "Faerus," Marianne mutters. "Did you not stop to think for a second before you..." Clearly flustered, she trails off into a string of curses in an unfamiliar language. She stops and turns back to Ascian, seemingly hearing what he said. "He has your brother? Oh, Ascian, I'm so sorry." Ascian doesn’t quite follow, his confusion uncharacteristically effusive. ”Sorry? Why are you sorry. He’s helping us. Helping Casimir.” "Faerus isn't helping you, Ascian," she says, sympathy cutting through her anger. "He's using you." Ascian's confusion narrows to something colder. ”No. Everyone else is. He’s giving me answers. Both of us. He’s the only one who will talk to me. About any of this.” "I am not using you, Ascian. Neither was Anastasia. We were trying to help you," Marriane sighs, wiping her brow. "I thought, by keeping you in the dark, I could save you from this. But I was clearly wrong. And for that, I truly am sorry. I owe you an explanation. Of everything." ”She wanted to cut me off from Shadowfell,” he responds with accusation. ”Her deacon wanted to kill me.” He tries not to think about the rest of that night and zero in instead on what she’s promising. What Faerus had from the start. ”What do you know.” "The Shadowfell is a dead realm. Faerus killed it. There used to be things there, Ascian. People. Animals. If your brother is there, if he truly is, we can try to get him out. But, Ascian, Faerus isn't who he says he is. He's not an elf. He's not even alive anymore." She begins pacing. "This world has not suffered from lichdom like many others have. But that's what he is. A lich. I've seen many like him, even some with the same name." She spits her next word as if it were a curse. "Vecna. He's a kind of undead that is immensely powerful. He killed the entire city of Daerheim and drained the Shadowfell of all its power to become what he is. But he's not done yet. He wants to be a god." If your brother is there. It’s a certainty she wants to make a question, and Ascian can’t bear it. ”It’s not dead. I’ve been there.” It’s a hollow excuse. ”Why. Why does no one remember the city. Why did you ask me if I knew it before. Why could I feel the crystal. How can we get Casimir out. He pauses, adding almost defensively, ”It helped Ember. He helped Ember. He didn’t have to.” "It is dead, Ascian," she says. "Did you see anyone but Vecna and yourself? And your brother?" She sighs again. "Nobody remembers the city, because in this world, knowledge is key. Knowing about something gives it power. It's how the gods were created. People began worshipping the sun, the moon, the sea, the earth, and eventually they became manifested as powerful beings. That's what the nations of this world have been trying to prevent. Prevent people from knowing about Vecna. Prevent him from growing more powerful." ”He said there were others. My brother. He had to protect himself sometimes,” Ascian replies in a weak protest. ”Faerus gave him a knife.” "Perhaps there are other denizens, but Ascian, the Shadowfell used to teem with life," Marianne says. "Elves used to live there. An entire people. He wiped out most of them, and then when his prison was weakened 21 years ago, he killed the rest. He also reached out, across the land, and found you. Touched you. He may have killed your brother, I don't know." 21. He runs cold at the memory of the first time he’d approached Marianne about this, when she’d asked him about the day he was born. That she must have known even more all this time, and never told him. ”No. He wouldn’t. It was me. Casimir tried to save me, he wouldn’t -“ His vision begins to warp as it had in the church, when panic - or something else - had overwhelmed him. ”Why. Why us. What weakened it. What happened 21 years ago.” "Ascian, I know this is quite a lot to take in," Marianne begins slowly. "I don't know the exact circumstances of your birth. Maybe your brother is alive. I hope he is. I will help you find him." She stops pacing and sits down on an crate. "21 years ago, an explosion in the mines of Hol collapsed the crystal chamber and shattered it." ”He is.” It’s the most resolute Ascian has ever been about anything. ”I know where he is. I talk to him when I sleep.” He tracks her as she moves, slowly turning to face her. ”An accident, or on purpose.” She shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. "I have no idea," she says. "It's Hol. Explosions are a fact of life there." He doesn’t understand why or how she’s laughing while his life again begins to waver, right when he thought he had certainty. ”What do you want from me. You could have let the king throw me in prison. But you didn’t.” Her laugh turns exasperated. "Because you and your little family of ner-do-wells left an impression on us," she says. "We...like you. And I feel some measure of responsibility for not telling you the truth before." ”I don’t know that we’re much of anything anymore.” He looks down at the hay, thinking of the others and hoping they weren’t paying for what he’d done. It’s only upon seeing the curve of the straw that a thought occurs to him and he glances back over with a frown. ”I never said he was an elf.” "That's because I know who Faerus Vance is. Who he used to be," Marianne says. "Na'arik and I arrived here just after it happened, hoping for a quiet place to retire. But I could tell something was wrong. We went to Daerheim with the first army from the Halcyon Citadels. We fought him. Neither of us struck the killing blow, but we were there when he was killed. Na'arik and I knew what the people of this land did not -- that you can't slay a lich and expect him to stay dead. We pleaded with the governments of that time to stop throwing people at Daerheim, but they kept doing it, and people kept dying. Eventually, they gave up, and came up with a new plan. Created the enchantment. Made everyone forget, and trapped Vecna inside the city. Apparently he's free to roam the Shadowfell, which I didn't know until you hinted that you had seen someone."
