Dreamwalkers fade from the room one by one.

Like an out of body experience, you see visions as you return to your Realms. Perhaps this was a side effect of improving the Soulfire Hearth, or from saving Prometheus. Perhaps not...

Just outside the door, Din stood still, having missed them—again.

He blamed the days of illness leading up to now, a lingering haze that clung to his thoughts and body. It was likely just the gnomish physiology of his new form—still foreign, still settling. Everything felt slightly out of joint. Too bright. Too slow.

And yet, the room held something more. A strange presence remained—subtle but unmistakable. It tingled along his senses, like the warmth of a half-remembered song. Familiar, but distant. Welcoming, but vast. He blinked. The air shimmered, and for a heartbeat, he caught the outline of something—no, someone—from New Zygaxia. An afterimage, scorched into the edge of his vision. And then names began to stir in the back of his mind.

Old names of Old Gods. Serunius Starr, Galea Gil, and Althorin Af’lir. Palus Ufguld and Folorium O’thume, 

And finally--Feli Orfainth.

Of elven lineage and divine bearing. Their form shifting—at times luminous and feminine, at times sharp and proud in a masculine guise. Most often, they appeared as a sapphire dragon, coils gleaming like moonlight over deep ocean. Their eyes, twin spirals of dusk and dawn. Din whispered the name, and something inside him cracked open.

A rush of memory flooded through him. He remembered being dead. Weightless. Adrift. Watching a figure above him conduct a ritual—hands glowing with runes and purpose. Dust swirled in the air like the remnants of a dream.

Then a forest. Endless trees arched toward a rolling sky. At the center, a vortex of scintillating light, ever-spinning, alive with color and sound. The concepts of the world written out in front of him. An orc stood beneath it. Desert-traveler's cloak wrapped around ancient noble vestments that had not been seen for a thousand years. A thousand years of darkness. Sand scarred his boots; wisdom shadowed his eyes. A voice—his own, or someone else's—spoke a wish:

"Hide the broken sky behind a Grand Illusion..."
"Shield the world from the Eldritch Madness."

The wind howled. The forest held its breath. Din saw his face—half-scarred, half-altered. One side twisted, reshaped as if an ice-borne insectoid demon had begun to merge with him and failed to finish the transformation. A grotesque echo of another form, stuck halfway through becoming.

The name emerged. Albion Seloth. Third of his name and Lord of Mourning Gate.~

You feel a light pressure pushing on you from all sides. 

 Your hearing becomes muffled, and the light dances around you like soft sunbeams passing through a glass of water. 

As your senses grow accustomed to the underwater environment you see the Lady Eel floating in what looks to be a cave, surrounded by a number of trinkets and baubles that look quite old. As she investigates and moves items around another mersapian floats in the doorway flipping between a few pieces of parchment studying what is written on them. The sounds of a celebration are muffled by the distance and the water, but are still audible.

The mersapian looks up from their notes and addresses Lady Eel.

"Run-ins with Tereshi ships have dropped steadily week over week since the... conversation with the Akhu. All in all we're down... 40% since then. It looks like the ploy worked."

"Of course it did" the Lady Eel replied, not breaking her focus "So would you say that the pressure is finally off?"

"Interference from Teresh has dropped below normal historic rates. Whatever has their attention now, it absolutely is not us"

"Perfect" Lady Eel said, a smile spreading across her face "It looks like it's time to get my things back" 

A spot on the wall was now sitting empty, ready to receive an item. She quickly spun in place, looking at the mersapian.

"Take this down for me. Atlantians, I left some items in your possession..."

The sound trails off as the pressure begins to fade.~

The vision flickers into a new focus.

Two figures sit in a small space, partially formed where they stand but fades away into a dark abyss as it expands from them.

“I…am not sure there is much wisdom in going to see them tonight.”

He didn’t have to look at her to know the face she was wearing. Not that looking would have helped see her face.

“You have seen something, then?” A hand moved across their face, as if to place it upon a chin that wasn’t quite there.

“Yes.” Her voice was quick, but soft.

“Does it pose a threat to our plan? Or expose me?” His face turned towards hers. “We both know I need to do this. They deserve to know.”

Gold stared at copper.  Copper stared back at gold.  Both masks gleamed in the dim light.  

“It is not that I don’t believe you. I just…”

“We are both worried, that’s all. Ugh, I don’t even think it will be that bad.  He has discretion.” She spoke softly, almost to herself.

“...Who has discretion?  Does that need to be a consideration? We know we can trust the Dreamwalkers with this, at least we have so far!”

“It’s not the Dreamwalkers I’m worried about…”  The woman in the fox mask took a dagger from between the folds of her dress.  “But for now. We should go”  

The dagger ripped through the air, a inky darkness lay on the other side.  Both step through as the vision fades.~

Your vision shifts and shimmers as the vibrant exterior of the Stone Palace of Enkidu comes into view. 

Three figures stand on the steps, two of which have a sense of familiarity. They seem to be in a conversation as they head down the steps of the Palace. The vision takes a moment to tune into their conversation as it draws closer to the figures.

“...two new Nexus Guardians have appeared,” Odysseus says, speaking to the other two.  “Regulus and I will, as is tradition, go to inform them of the honor and duty they have accepted onto themselves after their service in life.”

“Constantine, can you keep an eye on things while we’re gone?” Regulus asks the third figure. A silent nod is given before the third figure ascends up the stairs as the two Nexus Guardians step into the deeper parts of the Aether.

Your vision follows the mysterious third figure, Constantine, through the halls of the Palace until you suddenly lose sight of them. Instead, the vision shows you a few people sitting around a table and playing some kind of game, with shiny rocks moving across a wooden game board in little divots. One of them pauses for a moment and visibly sniffs the air looking around. “Does anyone else smell that?”

One of the other players pauses, mid-move. “Smell what?” 

The first speaker looks confused. “It's like the air just suddenly went... stale.”

The vision shimmers again before shattering into dozens of pieces. 

 You find yourself suddenly in front of a simple iron door, in a hallway that is filled with dust, cobwebs, and a darkness that is clearly only mostly being mitigated by the Forge’s efforts to show you the vision. A mechanism in the door audibly clicks, as if a key was just turned in the lock. It opens—almost uncomfortably slowly—until just a sliver of a crack is visible between the door and the frame, and you watch the faintest wisps of Rot and Death magic roll like fog into the Aether. ~​

One Day Passes in the Dreaming.

You don't feel your eyelids close.

You aren't even tired.

One moment you are awake.
​
​The next you are asleep. ​

There’s no time to worry about your waking self; the Soulforge pulls you along urgently to a place that feels… unfamiliar. 

Somewhere Far...

Your vision resolves to an antiquated television test pattern of color bars.
A loud sustained beep begins stuttering out a coded prayer to the god of headaches.
​
The beeping resolves to the sound of far away alarms.
The Color Bars cut away to a black box camera shot of Wrath at the controls of a small shuttle.

“Crash is imminent.” A sterile voice echoes through the small ship. 
“I know that.” Wrath says, surprisingly calm given the situation. He turns his head slightly and yells towards the back of the ship, "Ailis, you'd better get in the emergency pod."

“Engaging security protocol.” The sterile voice says.

The alarms fade as static rises consuming your vision and hearing.

White and black static with shifting jerky lines runs jaggedly across your field of vision as the sound of the static gets louder and louder.

Then as quickly as someone changing the channel you are looking at a well organized workshop. 
Racks of organized tools with matching blue handles.
Meticulously sorted and labeled ingredients.

“Well, I think I’ve really gone and done it. Mark-2 will be the best model yet, I just hope I have time to finish it.” a familiar voice says. “I wonder if they’ll be able to go above the limits of my crafting system. Take notes New Tink. I want them to make me some kind of carapace that is stronger for the Mark-3 and further upgrades to the weapons systems. ”

A small green lizard man excitedly nods. The larger of his eyes is a glowing ruby red gem that scintillates in the light and luminates the journal he scribbles in excitedly, his bulbous metal head-casing flopping back and forth with the weight of its mechanical contents. “Sure, boss. You got it boss.” 
​
You see a Tau Ceti man with long magenta hair and goatee. His pink-skinned arms and legs have been upgraded with unsubtle biological modifications. The shell of Zeeno X Kalitrex paces back and forth as he says “For the Carapace we’ll need to get: Luchite Ore, Espenspar Ore, Candy Clover, Night Inkberry, Crimson Saliote, Kings Ragweed, Silicone Ore. And pull out the box of Superior Metal Parts I have in the back...” 

Your vision swirls and shifts and when it resolves you are looking at a large desk in a cramped office.

On the desk is a single tall glass of milk and an old black rotary phone.

Sitting behind the desk staring at the old black rotary phone clad in white dress shirt and white pants is a man wearing a black and white peaked hat with an M monogram in gold.

The man absentmindedly reaches his fingers towards the tall glass of milk, his eyes never leaving the phone. His dry pale hands grip the glass of milk as his eyes never stir from their prey. Just as he is about to raise the glass of milk to his lips, his reverie is cut short. A loud recording of a ringing bell breaks the uncomfortable and extended silence.

He doesn’t mask his excitement when the phone rings. The Milkman’s smile is broad and genuine, if a bit overzealous. “Let me guess… People haven’t been paying their taxes?” he says jovial and expectant.

There is a pause as if someone is talking to him on the other line, but you hear nothing as his smile drops.

“Oh… But an audit hasn’t happened in nearly two-hundred…” The Milkman speaks quietly, barely breaking the silence. “Yes, I see.”

The silence stretches out. As you strain to hear the voice on the other side of the phone, the nearly silent whir of the mini-fridge that the Milkman keeps under his desk comes into focus.

“I understand, sir.” The Milkman says as he lets his head fall back, closing his eyes in frustration. The mini-fridge whirs on as the Milkman rubs his temple with one hand.

“Of course, I’ll make sure that policy is carried out, sir.”

“For what it’s worth, sir, in light of the context I’m sorry for how I answered the pho-”

But the man upstairs had already hung up. 

The Milkman puts down the receiver, and instead of screaming, he takes a deep breath. 

Resigned, he opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a packet of Cheez-e's brand cheesie dust that proudly proclaims 'The Best Part of the Chips' on the side of the box. 

The Milkman opens the pack with a sigh and dips his fingers in the bag and, fingers coated in the Cheeze-E dust, he dips it in the milk and stirs it slowly as he picks the phone back up with his other hand. Dials the rotary phone and there is a short silence as the Milkman scrapes the Cheeze-E dust off of his finger with his teeth to the accompaniment of the mini-fridge. 
​
“Yes, Hi, Observer Prime? Yeah, I was just letting you know that we will likely be expecting an important visitor and… Oh he is?” The Milkman pauses “Well why did you keep him waiting? Send him back.”

The Milkman hangs up the phone, shudders and takes a sip of the glass of milk.

Your vision cuts to the other end of the call where you see a seemingly empty small reception desk. 

As your eye shifts to scan the small waiting room out of the corner of your eye you see an entity is sitting at the desk wearing a shiny ornate mask. As your eyes pivot to the figure they strain to see anything at all. 

You scan the small nearly empty waiting room and see the lone occupant of the waiting room is a man in a black suit sitting perfectly still with his eyes open staring at the wall. 

A voice from the direction of the seemingly empty desk clears its throat.  

The man slowly twists his neck around with his eyes still to face the receptionist desk. 

“The Milkman will see you now.” the voice says.

The man’s nostrils flare and suddenly he smiles. When he smiles, the man’s mouth is so full of teeth that you can’t help but wonder how they don’t spill out of his mouth. There are more teeth in his mouth than you have ever seen gathered together in one spot. 

Crooked, cracked, impacted, and horribly misaligned mostly human teeth pulling his lips into a grin that not even the Far Realms could love. 

Then, just as suddenly as he started, The Man Who Smiles With Too Many Teeth stops smiling and his countenance goes back to that of a normal man. The man slowly straightens his head, stands, blinks each of his eyes in turn, and in a very normal fashion adjusts his tie.

The dropship alarm fades back into the vision as you see Wrath once again struggling with the controls.

The sterile voice continues. “Crash landing in 10 seconds… 9… 8…”~