The Kalev Highlands called to Cydnar, and Cydnar cried to them in return. He had sought a home for the Hummel for a decade, and at every turn, the government of Salvar had crushed his hopes. Time and time again, the newly formed senate rebuked every political and legal advance they made to claim a state in the frozen heart of the north.

“This is a risky strategy, you know that, right?”

Dalasi furrowed his brow.

Cydnar nodded. Despite his intelligent, and proclivity for diplomacy, every elf had to throw in his dice once in a lifetime. If this approach did not work, then the Hummel refugees were left with only one choice – to return to the Under Dark. To return to the ruination left in the wake of Yrene’s death.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“You sound like Eburi…,” Dalasi chuckled.

“He has had a profound impact on our lives, beard and blade and all.”

They sat in silence for a few awkward moments, eyes keenly locked on the tavern door. The patrons ignored them, for the most part. Knife’s Edge had lost its xenophobic edge in the wake of Denebriel’s death. A solidarity amongst its people fell away, replaced with a new, uncertain, and common goal – survival.

“How did you get in touch with him after all these years?” Dalasi’s curiosity got the better of him. He sipped his wine, almond and rosemary hinted red. “Did you hear his dwarven friends a mile off?”

Cydnar pointed to the door as it opened.

“As him yourself, brother.”

In a flurry of snow and the clad of night, the ranger Artemis entered the tavern at the foot of the ruins of Denebriel’s temple. Piety oozed in and fluttered the candles at the centre of each rickety table. A swell of energy formed in Cydnar’s fingertips, cascading out to the door and filling the air with a maelstrom of crystalline flecks.

“Artemis!” Dalasi shouted, enthusiastic to be getting down it after a tedious month of nothingness. “Join us, old friend. Warm yourself by the…candle.”