Dear Diary,
We are back in Tarn. The silence here is a stark contrast to the ringing in my ears from Ulther’s revelations. We have spent the last few days resting, ruminating on our failures and the impossible deal the High King laid at our feet. But dwelling on defeat won't save Keralon. We have to press on with Amarra’s plan: attune all four Elemental Hearts by forging the magic ring and drive the fey back ourselves.
It is a heavy mantle to bear. It reminds me of a quiet evening years ago, back when I was just her apprentice. Amarra told me she once had a son whom she hoped would succeed her. He died. And she left it unspoken how she considered me her successor now. I cannot fail her.
Our first ingredient was the egg of a Foxant, deep in the Lorewood.
The forest is not what it used to be. The Feywild is pressing so hard against the Material Plane that the boundary has practically dissolved. The water tasted unnaturally sweet, and a faint, haunting music echoed from empty glades. We found actual ruins—pavilions, tiled floors, solitary columns—that looked both ancient and freshly built. Parts of fey cities are simply bleeding into our world. We dodged packs of blink dogs and strange predators, taking shelter for the night inside my *Tiny Hut* while curious fey spirits watched us from the tree line.
By noon the next day, my divination magic led us to what looked like an abandoned, overgrown city park. There, in a small nest, was a Foxant and two eggs.
Gael greeted it gently in Sylvan, but the moment he explained what we needed, the creature turned fiercely hostile. They were its children. To make its point, the Foxant asked how we would feel if it transformed a human baby into an egg for its own spells. It was a morbid, chilling question, but it worked. We are trying to save our people; we cannot do it by slaughtering the children of others.
We needed an alternative. Hayley cast a ritual to petition the gods, confirming other options existed, while Liliana firmly asked the Foxant to use its own divination magic to help us if it wanted to keep its eggs. Cornered, it cast *Legend Lore* and *Scrying*. It revealed a vision: an ancient desert mausoleum, a statue with an outstretched hand, and an oil lamp resting upon it. A vessel containing a noble Efreeti. A wish.
We agreed to leave the Foxant in peace, taking only a single feather as a contingency to track it if this new lead failed. We teleported back to Tarn, and I immediately set to work deciphering the Foxant's vision.
Here is what my own *Legend Lore* uncovered:
> *The Valley of Heroes. A long-lost burial place for the great heroes of giant-kind who fell in the war against the First World. Ancient beyond reckoning, their legacy is guarded by the powers they once wielded. Their knowledge is given to an immortal spirit of flame, bound in a golden treasure.*
I scried the location, fixed the image in my mind, and cast *Teleport*.
We didn't land exactly in the chamber, but in a nearby, sand-choked cave. Alistan searched for secret doors and found a tunnel completely filled with packed sand. Drawing on the magic of the Elemental Heart of Acid, I dissolved and shifted the blockage, clearing our path into a hewn earthen corridor. The walls were covered in ancient Giant runes—warnings from long-dead travelers about the destroyer god Ouroboros, urging us to turn back. We passed triggered pit traps and the crumbling skeletons of thieves who hadn't heeded the warnings.
Finally, the natural rock gave way to a worked tunnel filled with mosaics of giants and gods, leading to the chamber from my vision. It was bathed in a brilliant, sunless light.
There it was. The statue, the outstretched hand, the oil lamp.
I reached out with my magic to gently retrieve the artifact, but the moment my spell brushed the gold, a voice boomed, shaking the dust from the ceiling: *"Thieves, trying to steal the artifact without passing the test. Prepare to die."*
Four massive statues ground to life. They weren't constructs, but undead titans wearing fragments of stone as armor. One lumbered directly at me, its fist smashing me aside like a ragdoll. Where it touched me, my skin began to calcify, turning gray and rigid. I had to reach deep into my fate magic, twisting the threads of my own destiny to resist the petrification.
The battle was chaotic but precise. Hayley, brilliant as always, cast a spell that transformed one of the towering statues into a tiny turtle. Fiachna, her raven, swooped down, caught the turtle in its talons, and dropped it into a bottomless chasm. Meanwhile, Alistan and Liliana became a whirlwind of steel and divine smites, completely obliterating a second statue.
A third statue began firing searing beams of light from its eyes. We had to hold the line, harassing the remaining guardians and keeping them contained. Even the turtle-statue eventually climbed its way back out of the chasm, but Hayley was waiting and finished it off.
Finally, the last giant crumbled into dust and rubble. Silence returned to the Valley of Heroes.
We stood panting in the bright, unnatural light, our eyes turning back to the pedestal. Only retrieving the golden oil lamp remains.
— Luke