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Day 1: “Where am I?” | Slurred Speech | Duct Tape | Darkness

There’s that familiar feeling of space being warped all around Ashton, and then, they blink the darkness out of their eyes and find themself in a dimly lit chamber with a magical teleportation circle painted on the floor beneath their boots. A soldier in that odd insect-like armor that the Kryn wear stands at attention near the entrance to the chamber; they step aside as their fellow Kryn soldiers who flank Ashton on all sides pass by. Ashton’s armored escort marches him up a few flights of stairs that open into a grand hallway of the same carved stonework and low magical lighting as the teleportation chamber below. 

“Nice fuckin’ digs,” Ashton says as he’s brought further down the hallway. 

The Kryn soldiers don’t respond. Buzzkills. 

Ashton huffs. “So, I didn’t exactly get a detailed rundown of the whole plan here. Just some shit about the shit in my head and how your Bright Queen invited me here to look over it or some shit. And believe you me, I’m all too happy to let all you wonderful people teleport me around and lead me down a mysterious hallway or two so that I can add onto the absolute fuckall I know about the shit in my head now that the Predathos shit is over. I know when to keep my damn trap shut and not ask too many fuckin’ questions….” He pauses, letting the huge “but” to come hang in the air. In his opinion, it’s courteous to give people a chance to intercept the next thing that’s obviously going to come out of his mouth. 

The Kryn soldiers maintain their silence. He takes that as permission to continue. 

“But. Can I at least ask where the fuck I am?” The group passes by a tall window, and all Ashton can glimpse outside is vague black silhouettes against a starlit sky. “From the time of night out there, I don’t think we’re in fuckin’ Marquet anymore, are we?” 

One of the Kryn soldiers finally gives the slightest tilt of their head in Ashton’s direction. “We are in Rosohna, the capital city of our Dynasty, where we keep the sky under near-constant night as a symbol of our worship of the Luxon. The Bright Queen holds court here in the Lucid Bastion. She has instructed us to escort you to the proper location.” 

Ashton waves a hand aside dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, you gave me the spiel about the escorting bit back before the fucky magic circle thing took us cross-continental. What I still don’t get is why you’re all being so dodgy about the ‘proper location’ bit. Like is there a special room where I’m gonna commune with this Luxon being you guys keep telling me about or something?” 

Another Kryn soldier scoffs. “Do you really believe that a non-believer and outsider like yourself would be allowed to attempt communion with the Luxon?”

Ashton shrugs. “I dunno what the fuck your guys’ religious customs are. Look, man, I’m just trying to figure out where the fuck I’m being taken and what the fuck is going to happen when I get there.” 

The first Kryn soldier brings the escort to a halt before an inscribed wooden door. “Well, you need not wonder any longer. We are near our destination.” With a deliberate wave of their gauntleted hand, there is a click of the door unlocking and swinging open on undoubtedly enchanted hinges. 

Ashton is escorted through the door and down a long stairway that’s somehow even more dimly lit than the other parts of the building that they’ve seen so far. Perhaps it’s the earth titan shard within them, but they can sense that they’re descending further and further underground with each flight of stairs. It’s an oddly comforting feeling. 

Finally, the stairs end with another hallway leading to the left and right. The group heads to the left until they reach another wooden door inscribed with unique runes. The first Kryn soldier repeats that same unlocking signal and gestures for Ashton to step inside the room first. “We will begin in here.” 

As much as Ashton wants to ask “and what exactly will we be doing in here?”, he’s had enough less-than-strictly-legal jobs to know when to take in the situation first, ask questions later. The room that he steps into appears to be a relatively comfortable office; the magical orbs of glowing blue light wash the room in cool tones that clash with the dark oaken desk and high-backed chairs on either side. The only wall decor is an art piece of that twelve-sided shape that Ashton also spotted atop the Bright Queen’s fancy staff. 

Only two Kryn soldiers step into the office after him, and the door shuts behind them. The figure sitting behind the oaken desk looks up from the paperwork scattered across the desk’s glossy surface. 

The figure says, “Ah, you must be Ashton Greymoore. I am Shadowseeker Moryn Tasithar.” 

Ashton sizes up the Shadowseeker, who appears to be a male drow with long, dark hair dressed in robes to match. His long, slender fingers set down the quill that he had been using to write with a gracefulness unique to elvenkind. At his gesture for Ashton to sit down in the seat opposite him, Ashton complies, setting their spherical glass hammer down next to the offered chair with a heavy thunk. 

They only barely manage to suppress the urge to put their boots up on the cluttered desk. “You know, when your Bright Queen told me that we should compare notes the next time we met, I didn’t think she meant fucking literally.”

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Day 2: “I’m worried about you.” | Infection | Protective | Confession

Imogen sets down her cup of hot tea—a surprising gift from the odd pink-haired firbolg in the Mighty Nein—on her kitchen counter. “So, guys, how’s Ashton doin’?” 

Fearne looks up from her place seated at the kitchen table—where she had been brushing her clawed fingers through Mister’s fur—with a grin. “Oh, they’re great. They came by the Manor a week ago, and they were great. They were going to see the Bright Queen or something soon… Hmm, yeah, it’d be right about now, actually.” 

Orym sets his own cup of tea down on the table with a little more force than necessary. “What? Fearnie, you never mentioned this to us.” He exchanges a look with Dorian sitting next to him, who returns the look with one that appears just as lost as he feels. 

Fearne returns to combing through Mister’s fur, unperturbed. “Well, he said he wanted to go alone. And it’s not like he can’t take care of himself. He wanted to go find out more about himself, that’s all.” 

From Imogen’s side, Laudna chimes in. “Well, I think that’s just wonderful of them.”

Orym remains tense in his seat, a familiar protective worry tightening his muscles and keeping him alert to the possibility of danger, but the conversation quickly changes topics to an update on his, Fearne’s, and Dorian’s time at the Ligament Manor. Orym reiterates his gratitude to Fearne for persuading her Nana Morri to allow him to accompany Fearne on her trips to the material plane as part of his contract with the Fatestitcher to be her lifelong servant and protector. Dorian reports that Cyrus is doing well back in the Silken Squall, the firstborn heir’s post-Resurrection (an unforgettable gift from one Pike Trickfoot as soon as resurrection magic began to work once more with the realigned leylines) recovery having long since passed. In turn, Imogen and Laudna reiterate that they are, of course, enjoying their cozy cottage life in the Taloned Highlands outside Gelvaan, and they are more than happy to host this small get-together with some of their former party members. 

From there, it’s only logical that the conversation shifts to the rest of Bells Hells, much of the group having split off after the Ruidus crisis had stopped being a crisis and their particular services no longer being of urgent need. FCG, FRIDA, Chetney, and Deanna send their collective love from Uthodurn, the city that they’ve all returned to while the two Aeormatons prepare for an eventual trip up to Eiselcross and the fallen city of their origins together—and where Chetney can continue training FRIDA on controlling their lycanthropy while taking care of some of his own business. Brauis was last heard from as touring his art around Wildemount, moving southward through the Empire towards the Menagerie Coast. 

Eventually, though, the five of them do circle back around to the topic of Ashton’s current whereabouts. Laudna and Dorian are discussing the earth genasi’s most recent gig as hired muscle at an archeological dig in the Savalirwood—and how FCG had quietly confessed during a previous visit that they suspect Ashton has been sticking around northern Wildemount so that he could keep an eye on FCG in particular, Ashton having become rather protective of the Aeormaton since their temporary death at the hands of Otohan Thull—when Imogen cuts in. “Do y’all think we should be worried about him? Y’know, with the whole Bright Queen thing?” 

Orym jumps at the opportunity to express some of the doubt that apparently has not been only eating away at his mind alone. “I’m not sure I trust that people like the Bright Queen who seem to really want to figure out how Ash’s powers work have his best interests in mind. You guys remember how she refused to save Ash’s life when they had to sacrifice themself to make the gods mortal.”

Imogen nods thoughtfully. “Plus, she tried to nab Essek when his disguise fell. My guess is that she’s who Essek is hidin’ from—and she’s who he was referrin’ to when he said that there’s folks out there that would wanna take advantage of Ashton for their powers.” 

Dorian looks between the two of them. “Maybe I missed something, but didn’t the Bright Queen vouch for the Mighty Nein in front of the council in Vasselheim? I’d assume they trust her in kind, and they’ve turned out to be quite the allies, if not friendly acquaintances. Shouldn’t that mean we can trust her to just talk with Ashton, especially if Ashton himself trusted her enough to go to her for help?”

“She passed my test that one time,” Fearne adds as she sorts through miscellaneous trinkets from her many pockets. “I trust her.” 

“Besides, she’s a Queen,” Laudna says with some reverence. “Surely, that should give her some credibility.” 

Orym and Imogen exchange a look, their respective worry mirrored on the other’s expression. Imogen eventually speaks up, “Y’know, Dorian, that reminds me…. What I don’t really get is why Ashton would go to the Bright Queen when they already have Essek himself to go talk to.”

As if summoned, a familiar blond human man in the colors of the Cobalt Soul appears in the cottage’s kitchen as if out of thin air; he is accompanied by an even more familiar one-wheeled Aeormaton and elderly gnome. 

Essek Thelyss—in the disguise of one Seth Domade—says, “We need to get to Rosohna quickly. I have reason to believe that your friend may be in danger.”

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Day 3: “No one will find you.” | Kidnapping | Murder | Prisoner

The Shadowseeker sitting across from Ashton laughs at their crude opening remark, which is always an excellent fucking start. He sweeps an arm above the sprawl of parchment and ink between the two of them, his robe’s long sleeves barely missing the tops of various stacks of books and the tall feathered quills standing upright in their inkwells. “Well, how else would we record our findings? After all, even the most powerful wizards must still use a spellbook. There is power in written notes.” 

“Well, now I wish I kept a fucking journal or something,” Ashton says, leaned back in their high-backed seat. “Most of my ‘records’ are written on my body.” They hold up their left arm, where the veins of gold catch the soft blue light of the room. 

Predictably, the Shadowseeker leans forward to better inspect Ashton’s arm. “I see that. Fascinating. Well, we’ll be sure to start keeping a written record of your experiences here.” With a flick of his wrist, a spectral floating hand appears to pick up the quill he had set down and hover over a blank sheet of parchment in waiting. 

Ashton grunts in acknowledgement of the arcane showmanship but remains unwilling to appear even the slightest bit impressed by anything around them. “Where to fucking start then?”

There’s a long pause. Finally, the Shadowseeker clears his throat. “How about… when was your first exposure to dunamancy?” 

“Still don’t know what exactly the fuck this ‘dunamancy’ shit is, but I’m gonna assume you’re asking about when I got the sparkly shit first poured into my head.” Once again, Ashton barely restrains themself from kicking their boots up on the desk as they settle in for a long story. It’s a story they’ve told several times now and thought about even more fucking times, so it’s not like they have to come up with anything original this time. A little bit of backstory on the Nobodies, a lot of description on the heist and the fall out of Hexum’s window, the snippets they remember after busting their body open, what Milo had told them about fixing them up, the memories that FCG and Imogen eventually retrieved from their broken head. The spectral hand writes all throughout Ashton’s retelling, and the Shadowseeker listens attentively without interruption. 

Finally, Ashton shrugs one shoulder. “That’s all that I can really tell you about that night. The Hells and I eventually figured out that Hexum was part of a smuggling ring that was transporting those fucking potions around, including to the Paragon’s Call in good ole Bassuras. That’s code for Otohan fuckin’ Thull, we figured out as well. She was using them to fuel these freaky powers of hers through some sorta backpack contraption shit. Fucking crazy to think that we were using the same power source in very different ways. Anyways, that’s about what I know about how I originally got my own crazy dunama-shit or whatever.” 

“Fascinating,” the Shadowseeker says, leaning back slightly as Ashton finishes his retelling. “And would you happen to know where this contraption of Thull’s ended up? I’m sure my colleagues and I would be eager to study its capabilities.” 

“Oh! It’s actually still in my hole,” Ashton says with a broad grin. He reaches into his pack to start pulling out the folded magical cloth. “We divvied up everything in here after things settled, and no one had any strong fuckin’ feelings about the thing since it was, y’know, Otohan’s and broken to all hells to boot. But hey, I thought, I kinda consider myself a collector of broken things at this point, and I knew that I might be coming here where this exact situation might happen. So, go at it. I have no use for it, what with my own fucking powers of chaos. And I’ll admit I’m kinda curious what your ‘colleagues’ find out about this thing that was the godsdamn bane of our group’s existence for a time there.” 

With motions that have long since become familiar, Ashton gets the hole open, hops down, retrieves the broken backpack contraption, climbs back up to set the contraption down on the Shadowseeker’s large desk with a loud metallic clang, and folds the magic hole back into an unassuming piece of cloth to return to his pack. Settling back in his seat, Ashton says, “I didn’t see anything else in there that seemed like part of your particular interest, but I hope taking this fuckin’ thing apart can at least keep you guys occupied for a while.”

“Indeed.” The Shadowseeker gives the contraption a cursory inspection before returning his full attention back to Ashton. “So, to return to your story, how did you discover the actual existence of dunamancy? From what I’ve been hearing, you did not have any prior knowledge of it before it was… infused into you.” 

Ashton grunts in agreement. “I had no fucking clue for the longest time. It wasn’t until the Solstice, actually, that I learned about ‘dunamancy’ as even a thing. The guy from the Mighty Nein—the redhead wizard with the accent—looked me over when we crossed paths at the Malleus Key and told me a bit about it. He seemed very fuckin’ interested in the stuff, and he actually showed me some of his own duna-magic or whatever when we teamed up to finally take down Ludinus and his allies. There was also the arcanist lady—Allura—who looked me over as well. She was the one who told me about you guys and your specialty in this shit.” They purposefully leave out any mention of Essek Thelyss, feeling a surge of protectiveness over the wizard-in-hiding after he helped with Ashton’s resurrection at the cost of his own safety. 

“I suppose I should not be surprised by your group’s connections to these rather powerful mages and political players,” the Shadowseeker says, unable to hide his subtly impressed expression despite his words. 

“No, you should fucking not. Especially when it was your fuckin’ Bright Queen who invited me here ‘cause I still feel like I know jackshit about what’s going on in my now twice-broken head. So, when do we get to the part where you tell me what the fuck is up with this?” Ashton finally leans forward from their causal slouch in the seat and taps the reforged slag glass embedded in their head. “I feel like I’ve talked quite a lot about me, and y’know, I always appreciate a returned fuckin’ favor.” 

The Shadowseeker’s smile can only be described as indulgent. “You might as well have read my mind. It certainly feels like it is time to move on to a more active examination. That is where the real answers should be produced. If you wouldn’t mind following me.” He stands and begins to lead Ashton back out of the office, where the two remaining Kryn soldiers part ways for him. “Don’t worry about Thull’s contraption; I will ensure that someone collects it for inspection while we are gone.” 

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter to me.” Ashton stands, hefting his hammer over his shoulder almost unconsciously, and follows the Shadowseeker out. 

The two Kryn soldiers escort the pair of them as the Shadowseeker leads the way to another wooden door down the dimly lit underground hallway. He repeats the unlocking gesture that Ashton had observed earlier and gestures for Ashton to step in first. The Shadowseeker follows Ashton inside the new room, and the soldiers remain outside. 

The new room is much more expansive, with a higher ceiling and no office furniture in sight. Instead, the center of the room is barren except for some floor mats, and the far wall is lined with a row of simple wooden chairs. There is a hobgoblin woman in flowing robes and a goliath man armed with a maul seated in two of those chairs; both of them stand as the pair enter the room. 

The Shadowseeker clears his throat. “Ashton Greymoore, may I introduce you to Avyl Hythenos and Fhesh Zabriss. Avyl is one of the best practitioners of dunamantic powers in the Dynasty; she will be the one examining your abilities. Fhesh will be the one actively testing your abilities.” 

Ashton sizes up each of two new people, his grip tightening on the handle of his hammer. “You mean like a spar? I’m fucking down. Just lemme know when to start, and I’ll get my head lit up like a fuckin’ Winter’s Crest tree.” 

Avyl steps forward. “If you would not mind, I would like to examine your powers in their passive state first, to capture the difference when they have been activated.” 

Ashton shrugs a shoulder. “Sure, fucking go for it.” 

The dunamancer lifts her hands and begins to cast in a way similar to whenever Essek or Caleb would examine Ashton’s powers. Ashton feels an odd tingling sensation deep inside his skull that also reminds him of the other two wizards’ respective inspections. It’s not as intense as whenever he’s raging and those activated abilities interact with another source of dunamancy, but it’s still certainly noticeable. 

At Ashton’s involuntary shudder, Avyl looks them over with a critical eye, hands still raised. “It would be helpful if you would describe what you are feeling as I examine you. Any pain or discomfort?” 

Ashton grimaces. “That’s a complicated fucking question, lady. But no, no more than my usual level of fucked up. More like someone’s running their fingertips along the inside of my fucking skull.” 

Avyl gives a noncommittal hum and twists her hands around. The tingling feeling spreads, and Ashton shifts his weight impatiently. 

“This is fascinating,” Avyl finally says, glancing over to the Shadowseeker who has shifted to observe the proceedings by Fhesh’s side. “Even in its dormant state, it is highly reactive to small amounts of dunamantic stimuli. I have not experienced this before in another individual’s powers before, even other powerful dunamancy mages.”

“In Common, please?” Ashton requests. 

The dunamancer turns back to Ashton. “Your powers are unique, as I am sure you have been told before, even when compared to other practitioners of dunamancy. They feel more… for a lack of a better word, raw than the magic of those who study this specific branch of magic.”

Ashton nods to themself after a moment of thought. “I mean, that fuckin’ tracks. Whenever we get to the main show, you’ll get to see exactly how different this shit is from you squishy wizards’ whole….” They make a few exaggerated hand movements in an attempt to imitate what they’ve seen of wizard spellcasting. 

Avyl appears unaffected by the attempt at lightening the mood. She continues to shift her hands around, and the odd feeling in Ashton’s head seems to follow her gestures. “By the Light… I only wish I could have examined your powers in their original state.”

Ashton shrugs. “It does look pretty fucking different up there now, but at least as far as I’ve tested out, the actual results are the fucking same.” After quite an extensive period of experimentation (some assisted by certain dunamancy-wielding wizards), they had found that all of their abilities post-resurrection appeared to follow the same rules of chaos that their original abilities had.

Avyl makes a noncommittal noise and continues her work. 

Ashton suppresses a yawn. “So, when do we get to the part where I actually learn what the fuck is up with my head?”

Avyl sighs and looks back over at the Shadowseeker, who gives her a slight nod. “I suppose my preliminary tests can be considered complete at this point. Let’s continue to the initiation stage.” 

She twists one hand in a harsh motion, and suddenly, it feels like that hand is gripped tight around Ashton’s spinal cord. All of Ashton’s muscles lock up simultaneously, and while he’s no stranger to a hold person spell or two, this feels less like a foreign magic is imposing its will upon him and more like his own innate powers are being turned against him. 

“W—” Ashton barely manages to choke out a single sound, his throat tight as a feeling of dread mixes with a sense of resignation over this all-too-apparent trap. 

All he can think is, I should’ve fucking known.

The Shadowseeker steps forward to face him. “We have very much appreciated your cooperation up until this point. For the next part of our examination, however, we felt the need to take certain… precautions. There might be some aspects of the next stages that you could find disagreeable, and we would not want to risk premature termination of the experiment. I do hope you can understand, given how eager you were to come here and allow us to study you and your unique abilities.” 

Ashton does not—cannot—reply. They hear the door opening and closing behind them. 

“Ah, perfect timing,” the Shadowseeker says, presumably to whoever the newcomer or newcomers are. “Fhesh, please restrain our special subject.”

Of course, Ashton tries to struggle, but it’s as if the total paralysis is so deeply embedded within them that it’s removed their will to even resist. In no time, they feel cold metal snapping around their ankles at the same time that they feel calloused hands yanking their frozen arms behind them. The same cold metal sensation locks around their wrists, and they barely catch a glimpse of Avyl whispering something unmistakably magical and oddly familiar before their world goes entirely dark. Their final thought is that they just hope there’s less fucking spaghetti and kenkus this time.

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Day 4: “It’s really not that big of a deal.” | Crutches | Denial | Whimper

Essek’s abrupt entrance is met with a mixture of blank stares and growing concern. 

“Oh, hello, boys,” Fearne greets with a wiggle of her fingers at the three newcomers. 

“We were just talking’ about Ashton, oddly enough,” Imogen says. “He should be with the Bright Queen right now.” 

“Scheiße,” Essek curses under his breath. “If they are already under Kryn custody, that will make things much more complicated.”

Orym hops out of his seat at the kitchen table, brow furrowed. “What makes you say that they might be in danger?” 

“Well, considering the nature of your friend’s powers and the Dynasty’s unfaltering worship of the Luxon, I have more reason to doubt the Bright Queen’s intentions than not.” 

“Yeah,” Chetney chimes in. “She offered me a reward for bringing Ashton in after the whole Predathos thing. And she never specified if she needed him in one piece or not.” 

“And you’re only tellin’ us that now, Chet?” Imogen asks, exasperated. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to take her offer! And who would’ve expected Ashton to just go with them, no questions asked?”

There’s a brief silence in the room. 

Finally, Laudna says, “I wouldn’t say ‘no questions asked’ but….” 

“Honestly, I think Ashton’s been a bit shaky since we split,” FCG adds. “They’ve been talkin’ alotta ‘bout figurin’ themself out and all.” 

“Oh, please,” Fearne cuts in. “Everyone needs to stop worrying. Ashton’s fine. He said he was probably just gonna go talk to a bunch of nerdy researchers, maybe get a magic poke or two, and be bored the whole time. Nothing’s going to happen to him.” 

“I wish I could share your faith in those in the Dynasty who would wish to study your friend,” Essek says with a sigh. “But I have never been among the most faithful individuals, even when it comes to those who I once would have called my people.” 

“I have faith in Ashton,” Fearne insists. 

“No one’s sayin’ you don’t, Fearne,” FCG says, trying to deescalate even if they would normally want to talk more about the topic of personal faith. “But if Ashton went in there of their own will and it turns out that those folks don’t have the best intentions for them, they’re just more likely to get taken by surprise.” 

“I say that’s more than enough to go busting into the Dynasty,” Chetney says. “Someone’s got to save that rocks-for-brains.” 

“We ain’t gonna cause a whole political uproar or anythin’ by goin’ in to rescue Ashton, are we?” Imogen asks, turning to Essek with a look that is equal parts discerning and concerned. 

“If we’re caught, we very well may face larger consequences, myself most of all,” Essek answers. “For your party, it likely depends on what the Bright Queen and her court actually find in your friend. If it turns out that his renewed powers are still close enough to those of an actual Beacon or he has a strong connection to the Luxon, they might try to claim that he has religious significance to the Dynasty, and that might even give them grounds to keep him. Now that the Cerberus Assembly has been disbanded, the Dwendalian Empire is much less likely to declare war on the Dynasty for something like this, but I’m afraid that’s not great news for the fate of your friend.” 

After a brief stunned silence, Dorian speaks up, “So, what I’m hearing is that we’re once again the only people who can do this job. We’re the only ones who would care, even after everything we’ve done for the rest of Exandria.”

Essek’s illusioned lips purse into a thin smile. “Are you saying you’re surprised?”

Dorian shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be.” 

“How are we getting into the Dynasty?” Orym asks, ever the tactician. 

“I can teleport us there,” Essek answers. “The Xhorhaus should still be clear; it’s one of the Nein’s safehouses. If that is, for some reason, occupied, I can instead try to take us to my old home, though I have much less intel on its status since I abandoned it years ago. Both of these locations are in Rosohna, so we would only need to find out where in the capital your friend is being held—my guess would be somewhere in the Lucid Bastion itself—and sneak in.”

“It’s always the sneakin’ in part that’s easy,” Imogen says. “The sneakin’ out part is where it usually gets….” 

“Dicey?” Dorian offers, generously. 

“Explode-y?” Laudna offers, also somewhat generously. 

“Absolute shitshow-y,” Chetney offers, realistically. 

It’s hard to read Essek’s exact expression under his magical guise, but there’s something distinctly exasperated yet fond there. “Assuming I do not have to burn through all my most powerful magical resources before the time for our escape comes around, I can also teleport us all back to someplace safe once we have retrieved your friend.”

“Okay, that should be in and out covered,” Orym summarizes. “What should we expect to encounter while we’re there?” 

While Essek dives into explaining the social and political landscapes of Rosohna, the Lucid Bastion, and the Bright Queen’s court, Chetney turns to Fearne and quietly asks her, “How are you feeling about this heist?”

Fearne doesn’t look up from where she had been inspecting her clawed fingernails. “Oh, I’m always down for a fun trip to somewhere new. I’m just not convinced that Ashton is in grave danger or whatever you all have been assuming. I haven’t heard any real evidence of it yet, you know?” 

Chetney nods. “Well, think about it this way: best case scenario, we get that fun trip, and when we show up to crash Ashton’s party, his reaction’ll be fucking priceless. Imagine his face when we all roll up to him and the Bright Queen in a compromising position.” 

Fearne smirks at the implied innuendo, and Chetney knows he’s got her. She sighs dramatically, though, of course, because she’s Professor Princess Fearne Calloway. “Fine. I guess it’ll be good to see them again, at least.” 

“Exactly!” Chetney agrees with a grin. With that settled, the pair turn their attention back to the rest of the group’s conversation. 

“So,” Imogen is saying to Essek, “ya think we should all split up into smaller groups in there? Ain’t that… I dunno, kinda risky? Even with me an’ Letters keepin’ us all connected up here in our heads, I feel like we’ve always been stronger as a whole team.” 

“Too many individuals seen together without reason will draw suspicion,” Essek replies. “Even disguised as members of the Aurora Watch, a typical patrolling Watch team is no more than four guards together. Pairing off would actually be optimal, considering we will likely be adding your friend to one of the pairs once they have been rescued.” 

The rest of the group exchange glances. Dorian is the one who says what’s on everyone else’s minds: “Well, I guess the question now is, who’s going with who?”