Visions in the Dark

Masaki steps forward when Huliavar calls. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a scroll, a fine one, the same taken from the dragon’s hoard. Placing it carefully on the altar, he declares, “This is my offering for a multitude of reasons. But most importantly, I think this is a powerful scroll that would be very valuable to me in the future. Instead of power for me, I would like power for Wolfgang in the future.” He lays down the scroll of Fireball.

With the tributes given, Huliavar raises a hand in silence. His fingers move in a slow circular motion, and though his lips do not part, the spell unfurls from him. At that, Huliavar approaches the marble altar. He takes Wolfgang’s ring and sets it into a lead-lined box engraved with the image of a star and golden coin, then closes the lid.

“Now, close your eyes. Clear your heart. At the moment you feel a cold touch on your skin, you will see darkness. I will plant a vision in your minds that will remain. You will be guided by my soft voice. Ludivine, destiny has brought me here to you, to ask what no sane man would dare. We collectively beg you to restore Count Rüppelshammer’s soul, so he may leave the Faguestate and share a lifetime.”

Light bursts from Huliavar’s eyes and mouth, flooding the chamber. A moment later, everything falls into darkness again.

Each companion accepts the trance in turn—Amber, Ashira, Masaki, and Daiki. Daiki obeys, though in his mind he pictures polishing a literal heart instead of cleansing his own.

Suddenly, light rises within the dark. The five stand in a city square. Across the way, the Medusa they once fought appears. They watch Wolfgang raise his bow, even as his feathers dull and his legs harden to stone. The vision lasts only seconds before returning to black.

“We have now entered the dream world—the Faguestate,” Huliavar tells them. “This may involve things that have happened, that will happen, or will never happen. It is a state of power, and you might experience forces you could only dream of. But be aware: what you feel may be real.”

The next memory forms. A desk, a sealed letter. Through Wolfgang’s eyes, they see the words: an internship in Fayshire, obedience demanded by his family. Yet defiance burns within him. He refuses. For Wolfgang, it is one of his first great breaks from family expectation.

Again, the vision fades. Another rises. They see a grand hall, Wolfgang kneeling before a burning sigil. His father and grandfather look on, their faces proud but unreadable. Before him, an air genie speaks of destiny and lineage, of sacred duty and war to come. Wolfgang is knighted into Nafas’ order. The warmth of three generations’ approval fills the companions, before darkness falls once more.

“These are memories that bring us closer to Wolfgang,” Huliavar says. “Is this how you know him?”

Masaki shakes his head. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure yet of meeting his family or learning of these ancestral struggles.”

Daiki is quieter. “I actually feel very happy. I didn’t think birds could feel that deeply. That letter—those feelings of pressure and responsibility—it’s something I respect now. How he could still fly with all that on him.”

A new vision pulls them in. The forest. Amber carries Wolfgang’s body. But the scene twists. A chilling wind rises. Darkness spreads between the trees and begins to close in.

Masaki frowns. “This is mine. But there was no such darkness here.”

“Whose dream is this?” Huliavar demands. “These are powers I have not seen before. What—and who—did you bring into the Faguestate?”

The shadows press closer. A curse, Masaki realizes, one that feeds and corrupts. He calls to the others, “It’s a curse! Keep it away from yourselves. Stay with the light!”

Amber reacts first, instinctively raising her hands. Light shimmers into being around the group, a protective shield. Daiki draws upon the wind, scattering green-purple sparks around them in a glittering aura. Masaki focuses not on defense but understanding, confirming the danger. Huliavar calls out in a steadying voice, weaving his words into courage. “Don’t be afraid. Stand by me.” Ashira, ever dramatic, summons a glittering stage light, a rockstar’s spotlight against the dark.

But the curse presses on. Some of them feel its touch, pain crawling into their minds. The darkness remains.

Amber sets herself alight—not in an explosion, but in a steady, burning acceptance of who she is. Fire roars across her body, though it does not harm the others. Masaki seizes that flame. “Amber, give me more!” he cries. With Daiki joining him, they shape the blaze into a sigil—the burning crest of House Rüppelshammer, a barrier of fire and meaning that circles them.

Huliavar reaches beyond, toward the Lady of Luck herself, trying to summon a vision of blessing to hold the curse at bay. Ashira strikes another resounding chord, spotlight blazing.

The curse whispers back through the dark: “Blessing means nothing to me.”

For some, the fire and sigil drive it away. For others, the darkness coils closer, gnawing at their spirits. 

The memory is reaching its end, but it isn’t over yet. Masaki remembers this clearly—vividly, as though it happened only moments ago. 

Daiki looks around at the trees surrounding them, power thrumming through him. He has seen his mother do this many times. Daiki reaches out and begins to open a tree, attempting to form a portal to the next memory—away from the shadow. “I just want to get them away…” He places his hand on the bark, focusing. The portal opens, shimmering inside the tree. It isn’t strong enough to lead to another memory, but it offers a safe escape from the shadow. The portal provides shelter; the shadow cannot reach him, but he remains by everyone’s side.

Amber steps forward. “Going further on—more fire. Okay, bien sûr.” She enters a rage, her flames blazing brighter. The heat erupts in a circle, a five-foot radius of fire pushing outward. Amber shouts, and fire bursts outward in an explosion that pushes back the shadow around them. She growls through the effort, trying to keep it burning strong. The vision of Wolfgang, once resting on her shoulder, burns away in the blaze of her anger. She knows it is only a memory.

Huliavar narrows his gaze at the creeping shadow. “Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. But you—you have no power here. I banish you to your own realm.” He thrusts his will forward, attempting to drive the curse away.

Ashira lifts her hands, light spilling between her fingers. “Just one more power chord up!” She unleashes the brilliance of a Sunburst, flooding the memory with radiance that tears through the darkness.

Tachibana steps in, weaving threads of shadow. He wants to take any threat that slips through the shield and weave it into a blade. Shadows coil into his hands, solidifying into a dark sword. The fire burns, the light sears, and the shadows are pulled into Tachibana’s blade. At that moment, the vision ends. The darkness still lingers—it never truly retreats—but the memory itself dissolves.

For a moment, in the Faguestate between memories, it’s calm…

Daiki frowns. “We have a choice. We can fight the darkness… or continue?”

Everyone looks to Huliavar. He is the one who can push them to the next memory. With steady resolve, he does so.

Suddenly, the darkness is gone. Light floods the scene once more. A foul smell fills the air. They stand in a sewer, and nearby, goblin bodies lie strewn across the ground. Above them, Wolfgang hovers, rifling through the corpses. The scene plays through Amber’s eyes.

But soon the memory ends, and the darkness returns.

Amber curses under her breath and glares at Huliavar. “What the fuck just happened? What are you trying to do, man?”

“We are here to find Wolfgang’s soul,” he replies firmly.

“What was that curse? Have you seen it before?”

“I have never seen any of this before.”

“The best thing is to carry on and find him as soon as possible,” Huliavar insists.

Daiki shifts uneasily. “I like this powerful feeling… is it normal? To feel this powerful?”

“It is as amazing as it is dangerous to remain too long in the Faguestate,” Huliavar warns. “One might forget one’s self and linger in dreams and possibilities.”

Daiki nods quickly. “Let’s go on, then. Please.”

Once more, the darkness dissolves. Another memory unfolds.

They see Wolfgang at a table, speaking about stepping out of his comfort zone. But the words blur, slurring together as shadows creep through the windows and under the door. Darkness envelopes them again.

Masaki reacts immediately. He pulls out a piece of black chalk and draws a circle around the group, inscribing arcane symbols with rapid precision. A gateway forms outside the circle. “Go back to the plane where you came from,” he declares, casting Shadow Gateway.

The shadow recoils, sucked toward the portal. Daiki watches, watching the memory of himself: the teamwork in that sewer battle—Amber’s fire, Wolfgang’s gusts of wind, his own algae wrapping around enemies. Everyone can see through his eyes: he sees all vividly, calm and precise, every particle of dust and pollen suspended in the light.

Soon, the dark curse returns… Amber strikes, shaping her fire into a blade, though it is weaker than she hopes. Ashira erupts in a wash of indigo light, radiant and vibrant, like a rave of color that pushes back the dark. Huliavar calls forth a mind flayer, but the creature is swallowed instantly by shadow, as though it never existed.

Together, they hold the darkness back. Masaki’s gateway pulls it away; Daiki layers fire upon it, sealing it off. Still, the shadow grows stronger, lashing out at them.

And once again, Huliavar steadies himself. He alone has the power to push the group onward. He closes his eyes, summons the vortex, and drives them deeper into the memories.

The memory pulls them in again, like being sucked through Masaki’s portal. They land back in the city. This time, Wolfgang is almost half stone, petrification creeping across his body. Amber stands close to him, watching with clear worry. Daiki is there as well, fighting alongside Masaki. But the memory is seen through Ashira’s eyes now. Amber tries to pull Wolfgang back, but he resists, wanting to finish the fight. Before he can, the darkness swallows everything.

Huliavar reflects, his tone steady: “I think it is quite interesting to see what happened there with the Medusa and the petrification. It seems it had great impact on all of you.”

Daiki nods. “Well, it was our first… first meeting together, I believe. So of course it made a good impact on us all. So yeah.”

Huliavar tilts his head, considering. “Interesting that you might be more similar than you would admit.”

The darkness shifts again. They are thrown into another memory, the interior of a shop. Ashira’s voice cuts through: “Try this on Wolfgang. Oh, maybe try this on Wolfgang. All this looks good on you, Wolfgang.” The perspective belongs to Masaki this time. It is vivid for him—he remembers clearly how Huliavar reacted to trying on new clothes, how he had not expected it of himself, and yet how he embraced it, using the moment to expand who he was. Then, again, the darkness takes them.

The dark gives way once more. A scene appears of Ashira hugging Wolfgang. Shock floods Amber’s perspective. She does not expect it—none of them do. In the memory, Wolfgang accepts the hug, and then the moment is gone, ripped away as the shadow presses in again. The group finds themselves standing in their own bodies once more, hunted by the surrounding darkness. Huliavar shapes the dream-world around them, drawing the others—Amber, Daiki, Masaki, Ashira—into the attempt. Ashira drips water onto a luxurious carpet, Daiki looks soaked as well, yet the memory shifts under Huliavar’s will, trying to disguise them. But the darkness presses closer. No matter how he shapes it, there is no hiding. The fog of shadow is everywhere, enclosing them from all sides.

Ashira raises her voice. “BEGONE!” Her command echoes, but only mocking laughter answers from within the shadow.

Amber hesitates, then mutters, “This is my memory… “ She conjures flame and hurls it at the table. Fire roars to life, forming a barrier, a makeshift sanctuary within the memory. The blaze illuminates the room, heat pushing back against the pressing dark. Daiki joins her. He leaps into the firelight, fists striking so fast that the flames scatter into a storm of fiery projectiles. Each punch throws burning fragments outward, forming a protective flurry around the group. He looks sharper, faster than usual—lean and agile—hurling the fire at the shadow, forcing it back.

Masaki adds his own touch. With a steady breath, he casts his will into the blaze. The flaming table shudders, then rises, animated by his power. It moves of its own accord, interposing itself as a shield. Daiki backflips away from it as it lumbers forward, defending them.

The combined efforts hold. Ashira, who had first faltered, finds the darkness lifting from her as the fire and motion push it back. The shadow retreats—at least for now. Still, the memory exacts its toll: the entity lashes back with psychic pain before dissolving, leaving them all standing, raw and drained.

For the others, looking through Amber’s eyes: everything to me looks as though through tinted glasses—like an amber filter. Warm, like firelight.

Another memory arrives. Amber is back at the Kingfisher. The doorman refuses her entry unless Wolfgang is with her. She is told to use the back door. The group feels her anger, her resentment. It floods them all as the memory demands they feel what Amber once felt: annoyance, shock, and hatred toward Montgomery’s arrogance.

When it fades, Huliavar asks softly, “Did Wolfgang not allow you to come in?”

Amber answers without hesitation. “Wolfgang of course allowed me in because I was part of his whole well-being. The problem was his surroundings. His standards. The arrogance of all the noble shenanigans.” Amber falls quiet, shame flickering across her. She has just seen visions of Wolfgang, breaking away from those expectations, even in front of his family. Her earlier resentment toward his nobility feels heavier now. Huliavar senses it, and inclines his head. “I felt your emotions. They are true. But let us not linger in the past.”

Darkness gives way to a new vision. It isn’t a memory exactly, but a feeling that floods all of them at once. They see Wolfgang soaring through the air. The wind rushes beneath his wings, dust scattering at his ascent. He is not merely a bird—he is the air itself, kin to the elements. The sight carries both admiration and kinship.

But with it comes a corruption: darkness seeping from his wings, spreading toward the group.

Daiki recognizes the memory as his own. The darkness thickens, roiling like a hungry fog in the lightless sky. They drift in nothingness as tendrils of shadow move to consume them.

“I have to protect everyone. I have to protect Wolfgang from this darkness.” Daiki grows taller, his body sprouting feathers of green and purple, a beak forming, talons replacing his feet. At last he spreads massive wings and takes the shape of a great bird, circling the group. Wind rushes from his wings like the wake of a passing train, scattering the smoke. Guilt presses heavy on him—his own memory drew this shadow here. Now he defends the others from it.

Huliavar watches, inspired by Daiki’s transformation. He calls upon revelations within himself. His flesh shifts strangely as he rises into the air, gliding without wings. Then light bursts from his eyes, mouth, and ears, radiance spreading ten feet in all directions;, his body becoming a beacon against the encroaching dark.

Masaki joins next, calling to Ashira. “Play the music we practiced together, from the book,” he urges. As her song swells with glamour, Masaki chants along, drawing strength from knowledge newly alive in his mind. Waves of music ripple through the air, visible as shimmering currents. He takes up his blade and runs along the very notes of her song, slashing through the shadow as his blade sings with power.

Ashira throws herself fully into the music, pouring everything she has into matching Masaki’s call. Notes of light weave into his path as she plays.

Amber watches, uncertain at first. “Great minds think alike,” she admits when she sees Daiki circling above. Inspired, she tries to follow Masaki’s lead, leaping upon the notes and striking at the smoke. But her rhythm falters, her strikes landing unevenly. The group’s movements are not aligned—Masaki runs one way, Amber another—and their disharmony weakens the storm Daiki tries to form around them.

The shadow presses in, battering them with psychic force. Daiki alone seems attuned to the air, fending off more than the others can. The rest stagger beneath the assault.

Then the memory shifts. Wolfgangi soars above rolling hills and forest. Below, two figures sit by a fire, their arms scaled. He draws his bow and releases. An arrow takes one mid-laughter; the other raises a blade too late. Talons strike, and two more arrows pierce the last one’s skull. His heart pounds with triumph—the thrill of his first hunt, his first true test. The memory pulses with pride and power. This is a core memory of Wolfgang. Amber feels the surge as well—bloodlust, hatred, justice all mixed together. She shares Wolfgang’s sense of grim necessity.

The vision fades.

Another memory takes hold: a hidden passage carved into the rock wall of Wolfgang’s family lands. Symbols etched in haste confirm his fears—Yuan-ti spies. Voices whisper in the dark. But before they can listen further, the shadows descend again.

At the cave’s mouth, the group braces themselves. The darkness rushes from all sides.

Huliavar hovers, feet just above the ground, and raises his hand. A sphere of blazing sunlight erupts outward. “Fear the terror that would engulf us,” he intones, unleashing his full might in a brilliant sunburst.

Amber steps beside him, laying her hand against him. Radiance pours from her touch as she channels her paladin’s faith into his light. The burst strengthens, burning brighter.

Daiki kneels, staring into the blinding core of the radiance. He sacrifices his sight to focus, then adds his own elemental power. Lightning crackles across the blazing sphere, mingling with fire and holy light.

Masaki cannot resist adding his own voice. He takes Ashira’s melody and twists it, singing in Elvish—a song of victory. “Be victorious,” his voice cries, though his steps falter as he charges into the shadow with his blade.

Ashira adds her own color, weaving indigo threads of glamour into the growing storm of power.

Together they form a vast sphere of fire, light, lightning, and song. Huliavar looks at Amber, his voice calm even as power gathers to its breaking point:

“For a soul melt, neither can live while the other survives. Please live a life to remember. Great deeds are destined to you all. We used to have it all, yet now is my curtain call. The Lady Luck gave my life some time, and now I found paradise. My God is calling me. I bid you farewell.”

The light erupts. Darkness shrieks and recoils, torn away in the blast. For a heartbeat, Masaki is nearly consumed, but luck shields him at the last moment.

When the light fades, they stand together once more in darkness. Ahead, a soul glows faintly, shadows clawing to drag it down. Beyond looms the true enemy—a vast creature of nightmare. Talons for hands and feet, shredded wings with rotted skin, horns twisting from its skull. Its face is nothing but a hollow void that sucks everything inward. Tendrils of black smoke writhe from it, reaching toward the captive soul.

The hallowed curse stands before them at last.