My rage, uncontrolled and unconcealed, turned on Savvas. The drow shrunk under my gaze and averted looking in my direction.

“Aunt Rillie,” he started a poor attempt to pacify my fury.

He might have lectured a deaf, for my anger clouded my senses.

Anger at his betrayal.

Compounded with my own inability to protect.

My own inadequacy to mend broken relationships.

My fingers curled around his neck. Wrath against him, that I thought myself incapable of, held me in its grasp. My knuckles paled as they tightened in anger. Savvas’s eyes bulged and his face gradually lost its radiance as he struggled against my mad frenzied hold.

His hands coiled around my arms, hoping to break free to no avail. My hatred, stronger than his survival instincts.

Seeing no other option, he pleaded wordlessly. His begging dark eyes implored at my cold unnerving gaze. With his words choked in his throat, his lips still reticently quivered, appealing me to listen.

Finally, in desperation, a teardrop peeked at the corner of his eye and trickled down.

His tearful face abated my outrage. My grasp around his throat loosened but not my wall of resentment.

The fires of his betrayal still raged inside. I slapped him repeatedly, till the echoes reverberated through the open fields.

Lips torn and bleed, Savvas’s salvation appeared in the form of Ottomar and Merowyn. The hulking warrior and the orc covered the distance with giant strides and tackled me to the ground.

“Listen, fancy Lady, the lad deserved nothing of this,” growled Ottomar, “He saved lives.”

“He betrayed,” I hissed with unfiltered vitriol in my words.

“He made the right call,” cut in Merowyn, “if it weren’t for him, the black knight would have killed the young Stormaire.”

“Right,” chimed in Ottomar with unconcealed sarcasm, “Were you blinded? The otherworld bastard threatened to kill the gryphon elf.”

“Does not absolve him of anything,” I screamed. My rage still unabated, coiled with the recent betrayal, held my rational senses in thrall.

Convinced by Savvas, Ottomar gingerly released his iron grip and I raised myself.

“Every single one, I placed my trust, betrayed me,” I uttered while still trying to reign my wildly flaying emotions.

Savvas, stood still and looked intently at me.

“Lyria, Vangere, Dell....” sobs, uncontrolled, broke out.

Pity replaced pain in Savvas’s eyes.

“Your betrayal was the last straw,” I finally managed to yoke my anger.

Nearby, Merrick stirred, demanding the attention of Merowyn and Ottomar.

“I think we need to talk in private,” suggested Savvas, finally, “it is time we both come clean.”

---

After we were out of earshot distance from the trio, Savvas turned once more to ascertain that the privacy of our conversation was ensured.

“So what is the deal between you and Merrick?” asked Savvas without any hint of emotion.

“He blames me for the death of his brother,” I answered.

“And?” With that single word, he urged me to continue.

“Not directly and unintentional,” I decided to spare the elaborate tale for another time.

Savvas raised a questioning eyebrow.

“If you must insist,” I gave a sigh of exasperation, “I was kidnapped and close to being killed. Lured them into a trap, Arlene sprung and loosened her arrows. Jarryd was collateral in all that, though not innocent.”

“But?” Still unsatisfied with my explanation, Savvas continued his interrogation.

“Merrick believes in his brother’s innocence,” I scoffed.

“How could someone be valourous and yet so gullible?” Pondered Savvas to no one in particular.

“You will find that even the most reasonable person, will abandon all logic when it comes to their loved ones,” I bit my tongue, the moment the words left my mouth. The irony of the situation dawned on me.

If our situations were reversed, Merrick would have been me.

We crossed halfway through the now-demolished festival grounds. The portals disappeared as mysteriously as they appeared, taking their denizens with them.

“Why are you here?” It was my turn to interrogate.

Savvas bit his lower lips and ignored the pain from his torn bleeding side.

“Aunt Rillie,” Savvas steeled his resolve as he looked directly in my eyes, “why this farce?”

“Savvas, I mean it,” I answered.

“You are not here for me then?” he uttered with a surprise.

“No, I am not,” I too was perplexed with his response.

“So you weren’t hounding me?” asked Savvas again, stretching my patience thin.

“If you think I chased you till Asterlund, then you are mistaken. Our paths merely crossed. Though I strongly suspect you had ulterior motives for being here.”

“I am betrothed,” uttered Savvas calmly.

Despite the dire situation, a vague sense of pride filled within.

“Congrats,” I masked my glee with self-restraint, “so you finally found someone to hold your attention long enough. I see you took my words.”

Where I expected hopefulness, only a deep look of forlorn remained on Savvas’s face.

“So who is your beloved? You know, under other circumstances, I would have thrown a regal feast to celebrate,” I declared proudly, ignoring the calamity that happend a few moments ago.

Savvas only gave a wry laugh. He had difficulty. Words failed him.

And then all the gears fell in place.

I was so fixated on Lyria that I missed all the obvious signs. I ignored what stared directly in my face and instead, I groped at shadows in the dark.

“I guess Lady Stormaire does not know?” I asked slowly.

Savvas shook his head in silence.

“We....,” he inhaled a deep breath to calm his nerves, “We planned to elope. Not a word to anyone. Just us. But I guess it does not matter now.”

“You know, you could have told me,” I accused Savvas.

“His choice, not mine. I respect his wishes,” explained Savvas. A dark cloud of longingness eclipsed his otherwise mischievous countenance when he referred to Celerim.

Savvas needed a few moments to gather his failing thoughts and when he finally spoke, he suppressed a sob.

“I tried to convince him. So when the opportunity came with your name attached, he volunteered for Sarenthill. You know the rest,” Savvas shrugged.

Savvas wrapped his arms around himself and shivered despite the warm weather.

“He found your morals, filled with dual standards,” continued Savvas.

There was no further need for him to explain. My mistakes continue to hound me.

“And Lady Stormaire?” I asked.

“She knows that girls do not hold his interest but not about me. Cel wanted it that way. High-elven way and dallying with a non-high-elf don’t go well. Wanted to spare his family, the disgrace,” Calmness returned to Savvas finally.

Ryleval’s cry of loss, echoed, reflected from the distant hills and cut through the area. The gryphon circled the dilapidated arena in wide circles. Her mind, still unable to process the disappearance of Celerim. She desperately sought his presence and enduringly continued with her effort.

“She is loyal, isn’t she?” I stated the obvious.

“That she is,” agreed Savvas, before he turned his attention back to me.

“Aunt Rillie, this whole incident, I mean not just the eldritch knight but even the Paladin Champion, made me want to ask you something,” Unmistakable hesitation reeled his words, urging him to tread with caution.

“About?”

“Who is her father?” asked Savvas, though he purposefully avoided looking in my direction.

My nostrils flared at his audacity but I yoked my anger.

“If you want to know, if I had ever been unfaithful to Lyria, then you should know the answer better,” I admonished Savvas. I choose my words carefully. His love was abducted right before his eyes.

“It was not my intention either,” Savvas took a defensive stance, “I mean did you know anything about the donor?”

“I never met the drow myself. Vangere knew him. Let me state it this way, he was the same as you. I guess, he just wanted to leave a progeny,” I shrugged and diverted my attention to swinging The Sentinel.

“Don’t you think she might have some siblings?” asked Savvas.

“I am certain, there are none. The chances of it happening are close to zero,” I assured.

“And if Vangere played a role in this, do you trust Vangere’s words fully?” questioned Savvas.

The feeling of unrest knotted inside me as if a dam broke and the flood of suspicion rushed, suddenly. I suppressed the unease feeling and nodded assertively to Savvas.

“Aunt Rillie, Do you have a plan to rescue Cel?” asked Savvas with anxiousness, returning back to his concern for Celerim.

“I am working on it, I promise you, I will try everything. He is family after all, but I need information. There is something that we lack, Missing something,” I voiced my opinion as we neared the first of the buildings.

The young drow walked beside me, his dark mood slightly lifted upon hearing my re-assurances.

“This blade,” I gave a few dramatic swings with The Sentinel, “is so much like my own Reminiscence. Surprising isn’t it?”

I tried to focus his attention elsewhere, hoping the fresh change of perspective to lift his dour mood.

“Can’t say I remember your blade,” confessed the drow, “Since the last time you brandished it was when Sire died and you had to lead. Ever since then you always kept it locked.”

“True, it brought back too many memories of her,” I confessed, freed of all my shackles, “and a lot of pain to deal with.”

“Really,” scoffed Savvas unexpectedly, “I thought Lyria was just some random tiefling woman you took a fancy to, like a novelty experience.”

Anger seared through my eyes and I glared, like an enraged cockatrice, at him. Lyria, never deserved to be described in such a manner and nor was my love for her, shallow.

Savvas averted his gaze.

“That is what I have been told by the house guards and staff,” defended Savvas.

“I loved her, more than anything.”

The words that spilt, surprised me. This was probably the closest proclamation of my love for her that I have ever revealed to another living soul.

“In my defence Aunt Rillie, you weren’t exactly the type to share your feelings. All that we knew about your life, were second-hand information from others,” frowned Savvas, with unconcealed accusation.

I let him continue for he needed an outlet for his inner grief now.

“Growing up, she reached out to me. For emotional support,” Savvas voice grew dark, “as her only family. How was I to provide anything? I was a child myself.”

“Savvas, I was always there,” I corrected him as we tread into the main street.

“Yes physically, never for emotional support,”

“I do have feelings but I also know how to reel them. Not emotionally stunted like you would like to believe,” I struggled through every word. Each of his words struck like a blow from a heavy hammer.

“Not stunted,” he agreed, “but extremely frugal.”

I silently marched through the main street of Asterlung leading to the Lord’s Manor. Deep down, I knew that his words carried an element of truth to them.

Carrying our grief, we both trudged towards the Lord’s Manor without any further conversation.

---

“Lady Rylonvirah, Where is Celerim?” asked a terror-struck Lady Stormaire outside the Lord’s Manor.

The high-elven Archoness blocked our path, trailed by Baron Beoric and a few of Captain Hilam’s men.

“Lady Rylonvirah, you have done us all a great favour. You banished those monsters, for this you have our gratitude,” answered the Baron.

Lady Stormaire hissed at the Baron’s interruption. Her attitude had more to do with the absence of Celerim than at the Baron’s affront.

Trepidation held my actions. Shackled with the burden of breaking the news to her, I stammered.

“Lady Stormaire, Cel is alive but taken captive,” Savvas took the lead.

The colour washed off her face. Anger, grief, dread, hysteria and a whole spectrum of emotions battled inside her.

“I promise, I will get him back,” I tried to reassure her.

“Why him? I mean, My son....” She struggled not to dissolve into a puddle of tears.

“Lady Stormaire, I am sorry but your son was just collateral,” suggested Merrick while being held on either side by Ottomar and Merowyn.

“Explain?” growled the Archoness with an anger belittling of her station.

“The dark elf defiled and angered some malevolent deity and now that entity sent its minions to exact vengeance,” blamed Merrik, “She killed its followers. Slew Jarryd too. Obviously, certain entities do not take well to insult. Your son, was just a harmless bystander, in a fight that she brought.” The last three words, Merrick uttered with causticity.

“She was the one who killed Jarryd?” asked Ottomar in anger. His jaw tightened and he balled his fist. Merowyn simply let his hands fall to the side of his weapon.

“You have no proof that Aunt Rillie killed your brother, Merrick,” countered Savvas.

Merrick scoffed in dismissal.

“I need no proof. The portals opened for her. Do I need to defend myself?” shouted Merrick.

Baron Beoric stepped in.

“Merrick, I value you but this Lady here saved Asterlund. This is my town and she is our hero. While you are in my town, you will either provide ample proof or you step aside,” declared Baron Beoric.

The trio glared daggers at the Baron while Captain Hilam’s men moved in to surround.

Baron Beoric continued.

“If Lord Korvanor wants, he can take the issue with Duke Lothmar. Let a verdict be passed and then I will gladly hand her over. But until then, she will remain unharmed.”

“Why wait for Duke Lothmar? The Paladins are here. Why don't you explain the circumstances of Jarryd’s death? I am sure they will enact justice,” I taunted, “by visiting Lord Korvanor directly.”

“Your safety won't last for long,” hissed Merrick before urging his companions to move.

Lady Stormaire lost all her stately austere and looked as if she was in dire need of support to hold herself from falling.

“Can you save Celerim or not?” asked an agitated Lady Stormaire.

“There are two facts that I know for certain. First, they definitely targeted Celerim,” I revealed.

The Archoness fell silent, overloaded with the sudden information.

“Secondly,” I continued, “they avoided engaging me when I brandished The Sentinel. The portal appeared when Celerim fell unconscious, no longer able to wield The Sentinel. They are afraid of The Sentinel.”

Coherence still eluded Lady Stormaire and she struggled to comprehend my words.

“I mean, this blade was made to protect Celerim from a specific threat. Someone knew the odds,” my voice dropped to a low whisper as I leaned closer to Lady Stormaire, “Your sworn sister has a lot of explanation to provide.”

“If she knew the threat, then she knows the origin. Get me the location. The Mage Syrune can portal in and I will rescue Celerim,” I said loudly.

In hindsight, that was a mistake. I should not have declared it in the open.

“There will be no communing with the nether planes,” came the stifled voice of Zelaphiel as he was scampered on a stretcher by two Paladins.

“Lord Commander Ellandor,” challenged Lady Stormaire with her arms crossed, “this involves the life of my son and a Justiciar.”

“High Lady Archoness, you will not traffic with the forbidden nor be an accomplice to such party, even if it means saving your son’s life,” refused a stubborn Zelaphiel.

More anxious eyes stared at me from the crowd. I insisted Baron Beoric, for the privacy of a briefing room.

---

“I need some information, Syrune, what did you learn about the portals?” I asked.

“They were not summoned from here, or at least not in the traditional sense,” Syrune fidgeted uncomfortably, struggling with words to articulate, “it is almost as if they were not pulled from this side but more like pushed from the other side.”

“They were unwilling participants?” the surprise in my voice spiked.

“Compelled would be a more appropriate word,” corrected Syrune.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. More puzzles.

“I will try to find where Dreaya is,” volunteered Lady Stormaire. She had the most at stake.

“Zelaphiel will no doubt try to stop you but I will keep his attention focussed on me,” I delved, “Master Proudwick, there is a change in plan. Please spread the word that I am heading to Arlond and that I have found a means to open the portal.”

“So, in effect, forcing Zelaphiel to follow you instead?” he said to no one in particular.

“Merrick will no doubt gather his compatriots and try to ambush. I am in no condition to take either of them in the open. Our only hope lies in Arlond,” I paused to survey the grim faces of all who gathered, “Whatever lurks there, I hope it would be enough of a distraction.”

“I hope the five of us can outwit them,” added Savvas.

“Not five, only four. You have another assignment,” I said as I stretched myself and stared into his eyes, “Go back and see if you can gather any loyalist, but most importantly, fetch me my Reminiscence.”

Five pairs of surprised eyes raised at my surreptitious request.

“For the past few days, my nights have been plagued with meddling from some entity beyond our plane. I brushed it aside, but now, I speculate that it has something to do with me being away from Reminiscence,” I confessed.

“But your blade was made by Lyria and The Sentinel was smithed by Dreaya,” Savvas spoke first.

Only Lady Stormaire had the wits to assemble the jumbled pieces.

“Her full name is, Lyriendriath, if it helps,” I tried to avoid Lady Stormaire’s vitriolic gaze but found it impossible, “I am that ex-lover.”

The high Archoness, tightened her lips and with deep controlled breath and hard squinted eyes, accusingly pierced into my soul.

“I am not perfect. I am not even a good person. In my ignorance, I have hurt her. I caused her pain out of stupidity,” my words failed and my tongue refused to cooperate.

The high-elf before me remained, saying nothing. Her silence hurt more than any curse that she could have thrown.

“I failed to consider her feelings. In my zeal, I did the very thing that I sought to protect from but I am trying to be better myself. To be worthy of Lyria. Would you please help me?” I pleaded to abandon all dazzle and formality.

“She wants nothing to do with you,” answered the Archoness in an incriminating tone.

“If it is so, I will accord her wishes. If she wants me gone, I will disappear,” sobs broke my words, “but after I save Celerim.”

Sheer silence reigned after my revelation. Even Karlienne, read the palpable air in the room and focused her eyes on the floor.

After what felt like a burning eternity, I composed myself.

“Before we set for Arlond, any questions?” I asked, hoping to bring the discussion to an end in a customary note.

Only Syrune brimmed with questions that beckoned answers.

“So you are a woman and you can love other women?” asked Syrune, much to my chagrin.

“I do keep my fingernails well-trimmed, now go figure,” The clueless mage became my outlet for my frustration.

The bookworm scholar drew a blank expression until the half-elf, who sat next, leaned closer and whispered the forbidden arcane secret. At her explanation, the mage’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.