Rumours of my death are somewhat exaggerated

by Luke Thomas

Dear Diary,

I don't know how to write this. I don't know how to put ink to paper and explain that I died today.

Inside the trance of the Elemental Hearts, I was trapped in a lightless void with Malfias, the furious, fragmented Primordial. Outside, the physical world was tearing itself apart. The fake ritual had destabilized the Heart of Air; even through my trance, I could hear the crackle of rogue lightning and the shrieks of frenzied elementals tearing through the giant fortress.

I focused my will, throwing up mental fortresses against Malfias's crushing presence, and screamed into the ether, taunting Amarra to show her face. I needed her to step into the trap. Through the chaotic din, the sweet, melodic chords of Ileas’s lute pierced the veil. Bardic inspiration. A lifeline in the storm.

Then, the world outside exploded in blinding, radiant light. Amarra had arrived.

I snapped back to my physical body just in time to see her descending like an avenging angel. I pulled earth and stone from the fortress floor, summoning a massive elemental to crush her, but she barely blinked. My spells fizzled against her wards. She glided toward me with terrifying calm and raised a hand. Iridescent bars of magical force slammed down around us. A *Forcecage*. Just the two of us, locked in an unbreakable box.

I fired a volley of *Magic Missiles*. They struck her shields and dissipated like sparks in the rain. She actually smiled. She mocked my efforts and demanded the Hearts.

I looked my former mentor in the eye, my heart hammering against my ribs, and gave her my best defiant glare. "You can take them from my cold, *Magic-Missile*-casting fingers."

Her smile vanished. She looked at me not with anger, but with profound pity.
She spoke a single word.

It didn't sound like an incantation. It sounded like a heavy door slamming shut in an empty room. There was no pain. No struggle. The magic in my veins just stopped. My heart stopped. The world didn't fade to black; it simply ceased to exist.

I fell into the dead embrace.

I woke up back in the lightless void. Malfias was there, a looming presence of unimaginable weight. I was a soul untethered, slipping into the dark. The Primordial made me an offer: *Join with me. Give me purchase in your mortal shell, and I will give you life.* I had seconds before the tether snapped permanently. What choice did I have? I accepted.

I snapped back into my physical body with a gasp that tasted like ozone and ash.
The Elemental Hearts around me went dark, their ancient glow extinguishing instantly. The power didn't fade; it rushed *into* me. I felt the raw, unfiltered fury of the earth, the crushing depths of the ocean, the howling gale, and the consuming inferno ignite within my blood.

I was alive, and I was burning.
I met Amarra’s shocked gaze and grinned. I reached into the raging inferno inside me and unleashed a massive, point-blank Fireball right inside the Forcecage. The explosion was contained, a compressed sun detonating centered right on myself. The flames washed over me like a warm bath, but Amarra screamed. Before the smoke could even clear, I heard the heavy, ringing impact of Liliana’s divine blade smashing against the magical cage from the outside, finally shattering the spell.

Amarra, singed and terrified, didn't hesitate. She teleported away.

The silence that followed was heavy. The giant's flying castle had lost its buoyancy; it lay dormant, grounded in the dirt of Tarn. Gael rushed to revive King Vespera, who had fallen in the crossfire.
I walked over to the now-empty, dull husk of the Heart of Air. When I placed my hand on it, the gem began to glow with a brilliant blue light. When I pulled my hand away, it died.
The Hearts aren't the batteries anymore. I am.
King Vespera rose, his injuries severe, his pride wounded. He expressed deep regret for allowing this plan and limped away to his chambers. We broke his castle.

We returned to Tarn, exhausted and traumatized. I went straight to Myrrdin to explain what happened. I needed to know what I had done.
He examined me, his ancient eyes widening with horror.

"You are not a vessel, Luke," he whispered. "You are an egg."
Malfias isn't just residing in me. It is gestating. It will eat my magic, consume my life force until it is strong enough, and then it will break out from inside of me. Myrrdin urged us to accelerate our plan to enter the Feywild. The alien magic of that plane suppresses elemental magic; it is the only way to put the Primordial into a state of hibernation before it hatches and kills me.

So, I have a ticking clock in my chest.

Because the universe has a sick sense of humor, the very next day, I had to dress up for dinner.
We needed information, and Alistan decided it was time to confront his family. I teleported Alistan, Liliana, and myself directly to the front door of the De la Roost manor in Hillfield, startling more than a few of the people on the street, I am sure.

We were led to the dining room to have a surreal, painfully quiet dinner with their mother. She was shocked to see us, but masked it with her usual aristocratic disdain.
Alistan dropped the bomb: Ulther is the King of Keralon. He has been ruling for centuries, and his plan is to rip the city into the Feywild.

Lady De la Roost was genuinely surprised, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. But her arrogance quickly recovered. She claimed their family possesses powers that will prevent Ulther from moving against them, and that this revelation changes nothing about their plan to turn Hillfield into their own independent kingdom.
Alistan pushed, asking for access to the family archives, specifically the history surrounding Ulther's rise to power during the Leper’s Revolt.

His mother took a sip of wine. She offered a trade. She will give us the history, but only if we assassinate a Gnoll warlord gathering power to the east: Grakh Swordtooth of the Bloodroot tribe.
Our own research marks Grakh as a powerful warlock who made a pact with fiends. He is trying to unify the clans.

Alistan kept his face impassive. He said he needed to consult the rest of the group before agreeing to be a hitman for the mother who disowned him. The dinner wrapped up quickly after that.

I died yesterday. I am an incubator for an apocalypse. And today, I ate roasted duck with my best friend's treacherous mother.

I need a very long sleep, but I am terrified of what I might dream.

— Luke

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