The Conclave

First Enchanter Lydia sat behind her desk, her tired eyes rubbed red and swollen. The old woman leaned back in her chair and emitted a deep, weary sigh. Her once immaculate hairdo was now disheveled, for she had been running her fingers through it in frustration for several hours.

The table before her was littered with a chaotic mess of papers and scrolls, many of them crumpled and torn. Several candles burned low, their wicks nearly spent, leaving behind pools of wax in the candleholders. The room was filled with a flickering orange glow, casting long shadows upon the walls.

Across from her sat a slight figure, almost too thin, dressed in simple enchanter robes of dark blue. The only adornments on her were a small embroidered Andraste's Grace flower on the upper left side of her garment and the timeworn amulet around her neck. Her hair flowed down over her shoulder in a long, loose braid the color of rich earth, the only aspect of her appearance that seemed remotely unkempt.

Lydia watched as the woman's furrowed brows betrayed her concentration while she scanned through the papers before her, her eyes darting from one sheet to another as if she were searching for something crucial. Despite her delicate appearance, there was a fierce determination in her, a tenacity that made the First Enchanter feel a sense of admiration and respect.

Finally, Lydia spoke, her voice laced with gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Miriam." With eyes fixed on the younger mage, she continued, "The last few years have been... trying. I've spent my entire life serving as a healer in the Circle of Magi, and to see it all fall apart... it breaks my heart every time I think about it." Miriam leaned forward, her pale face glowing in the warm light. She stretched her hand across the table and gently took the First Enchanter's arm in hers. The ragged, scarred skin of her palm was even more obvious in the candlelight. "Do not despair, Lydia," she said, her voice filled with compassion. "The Maker shapes the back for the burden. We will pull through. We won't let down the enchanters and the Tranquil who have come to depend on us."

Lydia smiled warmly at Miriam's words, grateful for her optimism and support. She patted Miriam's hand affectionately, murmuring, "From your lips to Andraste's ears, my girl." Suppressing a yawn with the back of her hand, she added, "If you don't mind, I'm going to call it a night. My old bones need some rest." With effort, she pushed herself up from the chair, her staff clutched tightly in one hand. "An hour in the morning is worth two in the evening. I think it's time for you to get some sleep too."

"Just a few more minutes, and I promise I will go to my quarters," the woman pleaded softly. The First Enchanter nodded understandingly and slowly made her way towards the small cot in the corner of the room. Her staff tapped against the stone floor as she moved with the stiff, cautious gait of someone accustomed to physical limitations.

"May the peace and blessings of the Maker be upon you as you rest," the younger woman called out tenderly as Lydia settled onto the cot, pulling the rough woolen blankets up to her chin. The old enchanter smiled in response, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "And upon you as well, my dear," she murmured before closing her eyes and succumbing to sleep.

Miriam sat silently, deep in her thoughts, as she watched the peaceful slumber of her elderly mentor. She had worked tirelessly to earn the title of Senior Enchanter, building her skills and cultivating her connections over the years. It was a long and difficult journey, made even more challenging by the stigma that had been attached to her as a result of Mother Lucia's accusations. Still, she persevered, focusing on her work as a healer and slowly changing people's perceptions of her. Finally, after years of service, she had been appointed to the coveted position.

Her attendance at the ceremony in Val Royeaux had been meticulously planned, with all the pomp and splendor befitting a grand occasion. Such was the anticipation that Miriam could hardly sleep as she prepared for the event. However, once again, all her best-laid plans crumbled in an instant. An abomination had unleashed its fury upon the Kirkwall Chantry, killing the Grand Cleric and reducing the sacred structure to rubble. Even though the culprit was an apostate, the Knight-Commander invoked the Right of Annulment and mercilessly slaughtered every mage in the Gallows in response. The shockwaves of these catastrophic events were felt far beyond the borders of Kirkwall. A ripple effect that spread like wildfire, plunged the entire Thedas into utter chaos.

The Circles of Magi erupted in rebellion, their long-suppressed anger and frustration boiling over in the wake of the tragedy. The Templars, charged with maintaining order and quelling any magical uprisings, found no support from the Divine and abandoned their duties in retaliation. And people were now warier of magic than they had been for centuries.

The world was unraveling, and the Ostwick Circle was not immune to the turmoil. Despite its neutrality in the Mage-Templar conflict, it was slowly crumbling. The changes were gradual yet inevitable like drops of water trickling through a crack until it widened beyond repair.

The mages, after first disappearing one by one, were now leaving in droves. Some joined the rebels at Redcliffe, while others sought refuge with their families or tried to make a life for themselves beyond the confines of the Circle.

Apart from the Tranquil, the few remaining enchanters in the Circle were either staunch Loyalists like Miriam, or mages who simply had nowhere else to go. First Enchanter Lydia was among them. She had spent all her life within the Circle's walls and was ill-equipped to face the challenges of the outside world. Managing her finances, finding work, and securing a place to live were all daunting tasks for her and her fellow senior mages. They were frightened of the unknown, a world that they had been sheltered from for so long.

The Templars of the Circle too, were caught amid the upheaval. While some had thrown in their lot with the rebellious Lord Seeker Lucius and his followers, others remained steadfastly loyal to their duty of safeguarding their charges. It was a precarious position to be in, indeed. Torn between their loyalties to the Chantry and the harsh realities of an ever-shifting world, they found themselves caught between a rock and a hard place. The conflict had taken a toll on the supply of lyrium, that power-giving substance upon which the Templars depended. As the war raged on, more often than not, the Knights were forced to suffer the debilitating withdrawal symptoms that came with its scarcity. In their desperation, they turned to the healers of the Circle, hoping against hope that they might find some solace from their torment.

Miriam and her fellow healers labored ceaselessly to find a way to alleviate the suffering of their comrades in misfortune. Even as they dedicated themselves to the task, it quickly became apparent that the symptoms could only be mitigated to a certain extent. Potions and healing magic could help ease the headaches and fatigue, but the unquenchable thirst and the hallucinations remained as unbearable as ever.

As if these trials were not enough, the Revered Mother Petra, in her infinite wisdom, saw fit to cut off the Circle's financing. With so few mages left in their ranks, she argued that they could surely support themselves by providing healing services to the people of Ostwick, as they had always done. Despite her fuming indignation at this decision, Miriam had no other option but to grin and bear it. Theoretically, Mother Petra was not wrong; the healers of the Circle were renowned throughout the city for their skill and expertise. However, in the current climate of fear and mistrust that gripped the populace, none were willing to seek out their aid.

That is why, for the past few weeks, First Enchanter Lydia and Miriam have been consumed with the task of finding a way to sustain the Circle financially. Every day, they pored over the accounts for hours, scouring every detail to identify any further areas where they could cut costs and minimize expenses. Yet, despite their efforts, the task seemed insurmountable.

They had already sold off everything that wasn't an absolute necessity, and yet it was only a matter of months before starvation would set in.

Frustrated and exhausted, Miriam turned her attention back to the papers in front of her. They needed to find a way to restore the trust of the people of Ostwick if they had any hope of finding a feasible solution to their financial woes.

As she pondered the problem, the midnight bells chimed throughout the tower, signaling the late hour. Perhaps the First Enchanter was right—a fresh head in the morning might yield a better solution.

Slowly rising from her seat, Miriam extinguished the flickering candles and tiptoed to the door, making sure to shut it soundlessly behind her. She walked down the hallway, her footsteps echoed against the stone walls, a solitary resonance that seemed to highlight the stillness of the night.

It suddenly occurred to her that with all the work she had done today, she had missed the evening service in the Circle's Chantry. Chastising herself for her forgetfulness, she knew she had to make amends, and so she turned towards the prayer room, her steps quickening as she neared her destination.

The room was empty when she arrived; the only sound was the soft rustle of her robes against the floor. As she approached the altar, she saw that the Chant of Light lay open upon it. The tome was huge, its pages thick and yellowed with age, yet it seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.

Miriam's eyes swept over the familiar lines of text that had been ingrained in her memory since she was a child. "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him." The words were simple yet powerful, and as she read them, she felt a jolt run through her body.

Everyone in the Circle had grown so accustomed to hearing those words that they no longer paid any heed to their true meaning. The means to win back the trust of the Ostwick populace were right there in front of her, within the very verse of the Chant itself.

Excitement and hope began to bubble up within her as she realized that this might be the solution they had been searching for. With renewed energy, Miriam made her way back to her quarters, determined to start putting her plan into action. It wouldn't be easy, but with the help of the Knight-Commander Tobias and the rest of the Circle, they could make it work.

As dawn broke over the bustling market fair of Ostwick, the warm rays of the sun started to spread a blanket of golden light over the scene. The air was thick with the fragrance of fresh bread, exotic spices, and roasted meats as merchants set up their colorful stalls and prepared to greet the day's customers.

The square was filled with the sound of hawkers calling out their wares, the clatter of horses' hooves as they pulled carts laden with goods, and the laughter and chatter of people.

Amidst the throngs of citizens jostling each other in the market fair, a sightly procession made its way through, causing curious glances and whispers to spread through the crowd. The Templars, resplendent in their shining armor, surrounded a large group of mages from the Circle of Ostwick, who carried several banners of the Circle of Magi. The banners fluttered gently in the wind as the group advanced toward the center of the fair, their solemn demeanor attracting the attention of all who passed by. At the head of the procession, Miriam and Commander Tobias walked in a stately fashion, leading the way for the others. The stoic Knight-Commander, clad in heavy plate armor, stood in stark contrast to the frail-looking woman walking beside him, her long, loose hair cascading down to her knees.

As they moved steadily towards the heart of the market fair, the crowd grew hushed and people gazed at them with a mixture of amusement and apprehension. The sight of so many mages suddenly gathering in one place was enough to set hearts racing. The Templars flanked the enchanters on all sides, their eyes alert for any sign of danger or hostility towards their charges.

The very air seemed charged with anticipation as the procession finally reached its destination, standing at the very center of the city square. All eyes were fixed on the woman and the Commander, awaiting with bated breath the revelation of their purpose.

Miriam's hand traced the amulet around her neck, and the small trinket gleamed in the sunlight. With a deep breath, she turned to face the people, her eyes scanning the expectant faces before her.

"My fellow citizens of Ostwick," she began, her voice ringing out clear and strong, "I stand before you today, humbled by the power that has been entrusted to me by the Maker, yet acutely aware of the responsibility that comes with it. I am here to regain your trust and to restore your faith in magic and in those who wield it."

A murmur of skepticism rippled through the crowd, but she pressed on, determined to make her message heard. "The words of the Prophet Andraste resonate deeply within me," she continued. "'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.' I believe in these words, and I pledge to live by them every day of my life."

She paused for a moment, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But let me be clear, the path of a mage is not an easy one. The power we wield is immense, and it can be all too easy to let that power go to our heads. That is why today, all the loyal enchanters of the Ostwick Circle will stand before you in prayer."

Miriam swiftly knelt down on one knee, clasping her hands together in front of her. The other mages followed suit, their voices rising in a united prayer: "O Maker, grant me humility, that I may know that my purpose is to serve. Grant me strength so that I may use my power for the greater good. Grant me compassion so that I may understand and empathize with those who do not share my abilities. And grant me patience that I may endure the trials that come with my powers."

The people watched in silence as the mages rose to their feet, holding high the Circle of Magi banners. Miriam's gaze swept over the faces before her, her eyes blazing with fierce determination. "I am aware of the ongoing war that plagues our land, and I perceive that you are fearful of us, and I do not reproach you for it. However, I give you my word that the mages of Ostwick Circle shall employ their gifts solely for healing, restoring, and serving. We shall stand by your side in times of trouble, and we shall use our magic to shield you from any danger that may come your way."

As the woman spoke, her words struck a chord with some in the crowd, and they erupted in fervent cheers as if stirred by her sincerity. Yet a great many remained skeptical, their doubts palpable in the air like a thick fog.

"We swear to never forget the words of the Prophet Andraste and always strive to use our powers for the greater good!" she announced, her voice echoing across the square. As she finished her speech, the applause was mixed with a cacophony of derision and disbelief.

Tobias strode over to Miriam, approval etched on his stern face. "Well-spoken, mage. But it's time to return to the Circle. We cannot risk any unrest in the city."

The enchanter nodded in assent, and the Commander and his Templars moved in to escort her and the other mages back into the safety of the Ostwick Circle. As they made their way through the square, Miriam could feel the tension rising. She saw the dread and ire etched on some of the faces, and it was evident that not everyone was won over by her words.

Suddenly, a cry went up from the back of the crowd, and a group of angry men armed with makeshift weapons began pushing their way toward them while hurling insults and threats. Miriam's heart raced as she saw them approaching, their faces twisted with wrath. The Commander's voice boomed out over the noise, "Templars, form a 'Shield Wall' and hold the line. We must ensure the safety of the mages. " He turned to the enchanters and commanded, "Remain calm. Do not attempt to leave the protective formation. Keep your heads down and stay as low as possible." Miriam and the other mages huddled together, terrified, while the Templars formed a wall with their shields around them and drew their swords. She spoke in a hushed voice to her peers, "Use no magic, for if anyone casts a single spell, we are all doomed."

"Stand aside at once! The mages are under our protection!" Commander Tobias barked, his voice cutting through the din of the angry mob. Miriam could see the determination on his face and felt a surge of gratitude.

The mob pressed closer, brandishing their weapons before the Knights. Still, the Knight-Commander and his men stood firm, their swords and shields at the ready.

"Step aside, you flaming fools!" spat one of the leaders. "These damn Fade humpers should rot in the Void!"

The Commander did not flinch. "We shall not permit any harm to befall them, and should you employ violence, we shall defend ourselves with all our might." He declared his voice cold and steady.

For what felt like an eternity, the two groups faced off against each other, neither willing to back down. Yet, slowly but surely, the fuming multitude began to disperse. Some of the angriest members of the mob threw down their weapons and skulked away, while others muttered curses and retreated into the crowd. At long last, the mages were able to proceed on their path.

Finally, they arrived at the gates of the Circle and breathed a collective sigh of relief. Miriam turned to the Knight-Commander and his Templars. "Thank you," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "Thank you for protecting us."

The man nodded his head in acknowledgment, his face stern and unyielding. "There is no need for gratitude, we were simply performing our duties," he replied, his voice low. With that, the group entered the Circle, and the gates closed behind them. Tobias gave her a curt nod of dismissal before departing to the Templar quarters with his people.

As Miriam stepped down the halls, the whispers of her fellow enchanters reached her ears. Some of them were tinged with hope and eager anticipation of the possibility that they might receive support from those outside their walls. Others, however, carried a sense of skepticism, as they knew that today, without the Templar's intervention, the mob would have likely descended upon them, tearing them limb from limb in a frenzy of fear and hatred.

She caught sight of First Enchanter Lydia peering out from the corner, watching their arrival with trepidation. The old woman had been eager to accompany them to the event, but Miriam was glad that she had insisted on her staying in the tower. The commotion and chaos of the day would have been too much for the frail enchanter.

With a broad smile on her face, Miriam made her way over to her mentor, eager to recount the day's events. She carefully selected her words, omitting anything that might upset the woman. After all, the last thing she wanted was to cause her any unnecessary worry or distress. Together, they made their way to the First Enchanter's quarters, where they spent the rest of the evening discussing the future of the Ostwick Circle.

Despite the naysayers, the power of her words had not gone unnoticed, and she managed to plant the seeds of understanding and empathy in the hearts of some of Ostwick's citizens.

As the days passed, she saw the fruits of her labor. For the first time in a long while, the demand for the healing potions and enchanted goods provided by the Circle grew. People also began to request visits from the healers again, the numbers may have been minuscule compared to prewar times, but it was a start, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. The atmosphere in the tower changed, with a newfound sense of purpose and optimism permeating the air, Miriam couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction. Finally, she succeeded in one of her endeavors.

In the coming weeks, the news of the Conclave reached the Circle, permeating every conversation and thought of its inhabitants. The very possibility of peace and order being restored to their war-torn world was a glimmer of hope that everyone desperately clung to. Amidst all the excitement and anticipation, Miriam found herself engrossed in her work, brewing potions in the infirmary. As she stirred the bubbling cauldron, lost in thought, the sudden entry of the First Enchanter jolted her back to reality.

Lydia was visibly agitated, holding a letter in her trembling hands; paper folded with meticulous care. She handed the sheets to her student, her voice quivering with excitement and urgency. "Look at this my girl," she said, "it's the invitation from the Loyalist fraternity of the College of Magi to attend the Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It seems your declarations at the Ostwick square reached their ears, and you caught their attention!"

Miriam stood frozen, clutching the paper tightly in her hand, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. It was as if time had stopped and the world around her had ceased to exist. The invitation was like a dream come true—a chance to contribute to the peace talks and help shape the future of the Circle. Even more than that, it was a chance to finally bring the attention of the Divine to Mother Lucia's crimes.

A sense of awe washed over her as she looked down at the letter, feeling the weight of its importance in her hands. The Maker was giving her another chance to make a difference, to stand up for what was right, and she was determined to seize it with both hands.

Miriam stood before her mentor with a rekindled determination in her eyes. Her lips were set in a firm line, and her shoulders squared, "The Maker is showing me the way," she said, her voice full of emotion. "I will do everything in my power to help restore peace."

Lydia smiled at her student, her eyes glimmering with pride. She had always seen something special in Miriam, something that set her apart from the other apprentices in the Circle. "I do not doubt that you will, my dear," she said, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. "You have always been a strong and determined student, and I have faith that you will carry Andraste's teachings with you wherever you go."

The old woman turned towards the large cauldron that simmered over the fire, stirring the potion inside. "Now, go and get yourself ready for the journey," she said, her voice softening. "I will finish brewing the potions for you."

Miriam gave an affirmative nod and hurried towards her quarters, eager to prepare for the road ahead.

Several suns had set when she found herself standing before the imposing gates of the Circle. She was flanked by three of the Templars who had been assigned to accompany her on her journey. Her heart was fraught with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as she bid farewell to her mentor, "Your wisdom and guidance have been a light to me," Miriam whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around Lydia. "I shall be back before you can even miss me."

The old woman returned the embrace, her eyes brimming with affection. She murmured a short prayer for the travelers, her voice soft and melodious. "May you encounter a road that rises to greet you, may the wind remain always at your back, may the sun shower warm rays upon your face and gentle rains fall upon your shoulders. And until our paths cross once more, may you be cradled in the embrace of the Maker's hand."

Miriam pulled away, her eyes filled with tears. "May Andraste bless you and keep you, and may Her grace shine upon you always," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

The First Enchanter tenderly cupped Miriam's cheek for a second before she took her leave, slipping through the iron gates that marked the bounds of the Circle. Miriam lingered there for a moment, gazing at the stately tower that had been her home for over a decade. Then, with a resolute turn, she set her sights on the path ahead, her stride firm and her countenance unflinching.

***

Miriam's eyes slowly opened, as if weighted down by the fog that surrounded her. The damp earth beneath her was cold and unyielding, and she could feel the chill seeping through the fabric of her robes. As she struggled to rise, her ears were filled with a high-pitched ringing that seemed to reverberate through her entire body.

It was then that the woman's gaze fell upon the eerie and unsettling scene that lay before her. The ground was a desolate expanse of rocky terrain, broken only by jagged protrusions of bright red lyrium, alive and pulsating with some unknown energy, jutting up through the ground like twisted fingers reaching for the sky. The thick fog that enveloped everything was a spectrum of different hues of green, making it difficult for her to see more than a few feet in any direction.

As she looked closer, she could make out strange and unsettling sights. Rocks that defied gravity floated in the air, seemingly held in place by some unknown force and alien structures that were both intricate and unsettling, as if they had been formed by some twisted hand that did not understand the nature of beauty.

For a moment, Miriam was disoriented and confused. She could not remember how she had come to be in this place or what had led her here. The last thing she remembered was the Temple of Sacred Ashes, rising before her in all its grandeur and the sea of attendees as she struggled to make her way through the crowd.

Still, as she stood in this strange and desolate landscape, she knew that something was very wrong. She was alone, surrounded by things that should not exist, and had no memory of how she had come to be there.

While her mind was in disarray, a sudden jolt of excruciating pain shot through her left hand. At first, she couldn't fathom what had caused it, but as her eyes flicked downward, she saw the cause of her torment. A gaping wound had appeared on her palm; the flesh had split apart as if pierced by a dagger, exposing tendons and bones.

As she beheld her injury in disbelief, an icy terror crept its way into the depths of her being. Instead of the blood that should have flowed forth, an eerie, otherworldly, verdant hue emanated from the wound, suffusing the cavity with an unnatural glow. The ghastly luminosity began to dissipate, seeping relentlessly into her veins, causing them to engorge and pulsate with an emerald fervor, spreading up the length of her arm until it was all drenched in the sickly shade. The agony that beset her was almost unbearable; it was as though her entire limb was engulfed in flames, and her howls of pain reverberated across the bleak terrain.

She caught a glimpse of them just then. Demons. Creatures of darkness and malevolence that haunted her worst nightmares. They emerged from the shadows, closing in on her from all sides, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Approaching her, they came into clearer view, and she could discern the distorted lines of their figures, their flesh a ghastly hue of ashen pallor, and their jagged claws reflecting the dim glow around them.

Miriam tried to summon her magic, but her efforts proved futile; her mind vailed with pain and confusion was unable to focus. Overwhelmed by terror, she became aware of her utter impotence. The creatures seemed to feed off her fear, savoring her fright with sinister smirks. She knew that her fate was sealed—that they would tear her apart and drag her soul down into the abyssal Void.

Brought low to her knees, tears cascading down her face, she braced herself for the inevitable as the fiends crept ever nearer, their talons poised to rend her asunder. And yet, within that fateful moment of despair, a spark of hope flared to life in the depths of her being. Summoning every last shred of her courage, she lifted her gaze skyward and beseeched, with fervent abandon, "O, Andraste, shield your unworthy servant from harm's way!"

As if in answer to her plea, a sublime figure of celestial grandeur suddenly materialized before her very eyes. An effulgent female spirit of incomparable beauty and grace, whose very aura emitted a warm, enveloping radiance that banished the surrounding darkness. The apparition outstretched her hands towards Miriam as she scrambled to her feet and ran towards the light, her tears of anguish and terror giving way to tears of solace and reprieve. With a desperate longing to seek refuge in what she believed to be the Prophet's embrace, she reached out for the figure, only to be assaulted by a blinding burst of viridescent light that erupted from her mark. The rift had suddenly opened up beneath her, and she felt herself plummeting into the unknown.

The wind rushed past her as she fell through the void, her lithe form twisting and turning like a leaf caught in the grip of a merciless hurricane until she was abruptly thrust onto an unyielding stone surface.

Her senses in disarray, she strained to regain her bearings, frantically scanning her surroundings in search of any trace of the Maker's Bride, resplendent in her golden glory. Yet, her fevered gaze met only the cold, steely stares of armed soldiers, their weapons pointed at her with lethal intent.

The foremost among them was a fair-haired man, wielding a long sword with poised readiness. His imposing stature and brawny physique were only further emphasized by the sleeveless battle coat that he wore, bearing a fur collar that stood out against his armor. As she beheld him, his demeanor brought to mind the Knight-Commander of her Circle. In his carriage and bearing, he exuded a similar air of authority and command. In his unwavering gaze, she detected the same piercing intensity that spoke of a readiness to strike should he deem it necessary.

Standing alongside the blonde man was a woman, garbed in the trappings of battle and draped in a black tabard emblazoned with the crest of the Seekers of Truth. Her face bore a perplexing mixture of ire and bewilderment as if she could not quite discern the true nature of the events unfolding before her. Her gaze darted restlessly back and forth, trained intently upon Miriam as she sought to unravel her intentions.

Lagging slightly behind the pair, a third figure lurked, her fiery locks concealed beneath a shadowy hood. Clasped firmly in her grasp was a sleek bow, her fingers taut as she drew the string back, poised to release a lethal arrow at a moment's notice. Miriam could feel the coldness emanating from her piercing gaze, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

A palpable hush descended upon the scene, as if time itself had ground to a standstill. At long last, the hooded woman broke the deafening stillness, her words spilling forth with a cutting iciness. "Pray, tell us why we ought not to put an end to you this instant?" she demanded with a steely resolve.

As Miriam was about to give her response, a sharp and persistent pain in her hand disrupted her train of thought. The wound that had given her some respite suddenly burst open with a ferocity that made her feel as if she had been stabbed anew. A violent tremor coursed through her body, and at that moment, she was enveloped in a blinding emerald light that burst forth from her palm. Instantly, the Seeker of Truth stepped forward, and with a swift and fluid motion, she raised her hand to summon a Spell Purge. The effect was instantaneous. The anguish and the flashes of light ceased, but Miriam felt as though she was being wrung out like a wet rag, and her senses were overwhelmed by a dizzying sensation of nausea and disorientation. As she slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, she couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu when she saw a pillar of brilliant, blinding light descend upon her with its smothering radiant aura.