Day One: The Descent   Scree barely had time to grab the door handle before the sickness overtook her. She abandoned everything and rushed to the bathroom, where she spent the better part of an hour emptying her stomach. The nausea was relentless, and when she tried to call upon her magic for relief, the backlash sent her into violent convulsions. Mimicat, sensing her distress, perched on her chest and watched over her, chirping soft mimic noises. Magic was failing her—violently.   Later that day, fever dreams swept through her mind—shadowy figures in the Wyrm Mountains chanting in a language she didn’t understand. A towering red-scaled beast, wingless but gargantuan, moved like liquid fire through stone. A voice, deep and echoing, whispered: "The scales have been taken. The blood must be given."   She woke up drenched in sweat, feeling worse than before.   -------------------------------------------   Day Two: The Struggle & The Search for Help   Mimicat set off to find her friends but returned empty-handed. In his small way, he had braved the streets, dodging terrified citizens and overzealous guards, all mistaking him for a rogue monster. The best he could do was bring back a Superior Healing Potion, which Scree downed before slipping into another feverish sleep.   By evening, she heard voices outside her window.   "Did you hear? Another farmstead, gone. Not burned—vanished. The ground was smooth like glass where it used to be."   "They say the beast moves beneath the earth. It leaves no trace except silence."   She tried to sit up and listen but blacked out before she could.   -------------------------------------------------   Day Three: Shadows & Secrets   Scree’s body fought against itself. Magic was still out of the question—every attempt resulted in crippling pain and nausea. She had no choice but to endure. Mimicat kept a quiet vigil, bringing food and water she could barely stomach.   Rumors from outside trickled in:  

A merchant caravan bound for the Wyrm Mountains had vanished overnight, leaving wagons and supplies behind, but not a single person.

An old scholar claimed to have seen runes glowing in the mountains, flickering like embers in the dark. "A ritual," he said. "Something waking… or being changed."

Some whispered that the missing people weren’t dead—but that their memories had been devoured, as if they had never existed.

She shivered despite the sweat pooling beneath her sheets.   -------------------------------------------   Day Four: A Moment of Clarity   The fever broke for a few hours. Scree sat up, leaning against the wall, and took a deep breath. Mimicat nudged a waterskin toward her, making concerned mimic noises.   "I think something is wrong in the Wyrm Mountains," she rasped, surprising herself. She had no proof—only the rumors, the fever dreams, the voices. But the sickness… it felt like more than just an illness. It felt like something inside her was being repelled, as if her connection to magic itself was being severed.   She tried to cast Mage Hand. The pain that followed forced her to bite down on a leather strap to keep from screaming. Mimicat, distressed, pressed against her side to comfort her.   "We need to tell the others," she managed, before sleep dragged her under again.   ----------------------------------------------------------   Day Five: Signs & Omens   She awoke to Mimicat chirping anxiously. Outside, voices argued:   "We can’t just sit here! The ground was moving! You saw it!"   "I’m telling you, the shopkeeper disappeared! No blood, no struggle. Just gone."   "First the beast, now this damn ritual. Someone needs to put an end to this."   Scree’s body still ached, but her mind was clearer than it had been in days. If something was happening in the Wyrm Mountains, she and her friends needed to know.   That afternoon, she attempted to write notes about the rumors for her party. Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to scrawl down what she could.  

Disappearing people.

Ground turned to glass.

A ritual waking something.

Magic sickness?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------   Day Six: Strength Returning   For the first time in days, Scree kept food down. The nausea remained but was manageable. Mimicat cheered beside her when she managed to drink an entire cup of water.   When she tried to cast Mold Earth on the stone wall, she expected pain—but instead, her name carved itself into the stone. She nearly cried with relief. Her magic was coming back.   Outside, talk of the beast continued. Someone swore they saw it rise from the mountains, massive and wingless, before phasing into the earth like a shadow.   "That’s impossible," another voice argued.   "Tell that to the ones who saw it."   ----------------------------------------------------------   Day Seven: Unfinished Business   Scree felt strong enough to stand without swaying. She cleaned up her room, nodded to Mimicat, and opened the door, finally ready to return to the world.   She didn’t expect the furious knocking at her door.   "Pardon me, Lady Scree... but there is a very angry shopkeeper here to speak to you."   Mimicat made a guilty little chirp. Scree sighed, rubbing her temples. At least she was well enough to deal with it.   But in the back of her mind, the whispers of the Wyrm Mountains lingered. The sickness, the lost caravans, the glowing runes, and the thing beneath the ground.   Something was happening.   And they were running out of time.