The morning sun cast long shadows as Hythesion, Geth, Akmenos, Maitara, and Ethan walked towards Neverwinter's Western Gate. The day felt lighter than yesterday, a quiet relief settling over them. Glynlie was safe, the King's gratitude still fresh. Their steps were soft, a peaceful end to a chaotic chapter, a new journey waiting just beyond the city walls.
Their quiet walk was abruptly shattered by a shout. "Sir Ethan! Sir Ethan!"
A Council Knight, breathless and armor glinting, ran towards them from the gate. He skidded to a halt, panting. "Sir Ethan! All the spectres are apprehended!"
Hythesion and the others exchanged confused glances. "Spectres?" Hythesion asked, puzzled.
Before the knight could explain, Bayron, the Centaur, galloped up, a wide grin on his face. "Guys! Where've you been?! You missed all the fun!" He carried a large, empty sack over his shoulder.
Maitara questioned, "What are you talking about?"
"The spectres, of course!" Bayron exclaimed. He then noticed the Council Knight, whose face tightened. "Oh, did I spoil it?"
The Council Knight winced. "It's quite alright, Bayron. Sir Ethan would have been informed eventually." He then looked expectantly at Ethan, who still seemed to be processing the information.
The group looked at each other, then back at Bayron and the knight. Whatever this was, it pulled them forward with a strange urgency.
"Alright, let's go," Hythesion said, already moving.
They hurried to the Western Gate. As they passed through the archway, their jaws dropped.
Hundreds of spectres, shimmering and ethereal, were lined up in rows stretching far down the road. They were caught in nets of pure light, held fast by more Council Knights. The spectres pulsed faintly, their malevolent glow now dull, looking less like terrifying wraiths and more like a massive, shimmering catch.
Ethan turned to the breathless knight, a flicker of exasperation crossing his face. "What exactly happened out here?"
The knight saluted. "Sir Ethan, it was quite unexpected. As we were about to arrive in Neverwinter, the vanguard reported these spectres approaching. Then sir Bayron here"—he gestured towards the centaur—"was already at the gate, ready to intercept them. He was prepared to risk his life to keep them from entering the city."
Bayron puffed out his chest proudly.
"As the spectres were about to attack, we engaged immediately," the knight continued. "We quickly overwhelmed and captured most of them. Some tried to escape, but sir Bayron, with remarkable speed, caught up to them and secured the stragglers."
Bayron waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, it's nothing. Happy to help, really. They even gave me a Council Knight scarf as a reward! See?" He gestured proudly to a rather pristine, but clearly much too small, white scarf tied clumsily around his neck. "I am now a Council Knight!"
Ethan stared at the scarf, then at Bayron, then back at the knight who seemed to be trying very hard not to smile. "That's not how that works," Ethan deadpanned.
The knight, having delivered his report, then turned his attention back to the pressing matter at hand. "Sir Ethan," he asked, "What are your orders for these spectres?"
Ethan gestured towards the shimmering rows. "Deliver all of them to the Council. The elders will decide their fate."
As this conversation continued, Geth, Akmenos, and Maitara, with Hythesion and Bayron, began to move towards their waiting cart. Geth, Akmenos, and Maitara quickly clambered inside, settling in as if ready for immediate departure. Hythesion remained outside with Bayron, while the centaur adjusted the harness of the sturdy draft horse.
"Sorry we took so long," Hythesion said to Bayron, a weary smile touching his lips. "A lot happened back there."
Bayron chuckled, his large hands deftly handling the straps. "Yeah, I heard all about it from the people coming out of the arena. Wild stuff! But I knew you guys would win. And at least the package is safe, right?"
Hythesion's hand instinctively went to his pocket. He pulled out the small wooden box, flipping open the latch. The pendant, gleaming softly, rested undisturbed within. "Yeah," he confirmed, a sense of relief washing over him. "It's safe."
Meanwhile, Ethan and the Council Knight watched them from a distance. The knight then mounted his own steed. "Will you be joining us back to the Council, Sir Ethan?" he inquired, his gaze sweeping over the long line of captured spectres.
Ethan glanced at Hythesion and the others, who were now almost ready to depart. A faint, almost mischievous glint entered his eyes. "No," he replied. "Tell the elders I'll be gone for a while. I have a new mission."
The knight simply nodded, perhaps used to the unpredictable nature of Council Knights. "Good luck, Sir Ethan," he said, before riding off to signal the other Council Knights, who then began to move their shimmering, spectral cargo down the road, heading east.
With that, Ethan turned and walked towards the cart, leaving the Knight to his duties. As he approached, Hythesion, about to lift himself into the cart, paused and looked at him.
"So, what's your plan after this?" Hythesion asked, a touch of curiosity in his voice.
Ethan reached the cart, a ghost of his earlier smile returning. "I'm coming with you."
Hythesion blinked, genuinely surprised. "You are? Why?"
"After what happened," Ethan replied, his gaze drifting briefly to the pendant box in Hythesion's hand, "I guess you need some extra hands to guard that pendant."
Hythesion's brow furrowed slightly. "Are you sure? I mean, earlier back there, you were ready to fight us just to get this pendant off of us."
Ethan nodded. "World Rank Artifacts never belong to the Council. We are just its protectors. If this Pendant is really going to Morea, then to Morea it goes. I'm just curious why Morea though. It's a dead city."
"I don't know either," Hythesion admitted, "I was shocked at first as well. That's why I have to deliver this to Morea and see for myself why." He then added, as he lifted himself into the cart, "Especially now we know this is a world-rank artifact."
Ethan's expression grew thoughtful. "You think something bigger is happening?"
"I don't know for certain," Hythesion replied, settling himself amongst Geth and Akmenos. "That's why I'm more eager to find out."
Ethan, without further word, followed him inside, finding a spot amidst their gear.
"You're coming with us?!" Geth exclaimed, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and delight.
Ethan grinned, a rare, genuine flash of humor. "Let's be real, you all look kind of frail. And you need strong people like me." He chuckled, earning groans from Geth and Akmenos.
Akmenos, however, quickly recovered. "Fine, but you don't have a share with the reward," he declared, crossing his arms.
Laughter erupted from the cart, even Maitara let out a small giggle. Everyone laughed except Maitara, who quietly met Ethan's gaze.
Ethan's laughter faded. He turned to Maitara, his expression softening, becoming unexpectedly solemn. He then bowed deeply, a gesture of profound respect that momentarily silenced the others. "Young lady," he said, his voice earnest, "I apologize for what I said back in the dungeon. I will help you get rid of Gannurim out of your body. In the name of the Council Elders, I'll do it."
Maitara's eyes widened, a fragile smile slowly spreading across her face. "Apologies accepted, Sir Ethan."
Geth, witnessing this unexpected display, whistled softly. "Who knew you were soft-hearted, ahahaha!"
Meanwhile, in the grand throne room, a different kind of quiet descended. The morning light, filtered through tall, stained-glass windows, cast jewel-toned patterns across the polished marble floor. The air, typically thick with the murmur of courtiers and the rustle of important papers, was now crisp and still, carrying only the faint, metallic scent of the ceremonial armor that lined the walls. King Tronan sat upon his gilded throne, his posture regal, but the slight tension in his jaw betrayed the lingering weight of yesterday's betrayal.
The heavy oak doors creaked open, and Glynlie stepped inside. Her armor, freshly polished, gleamed in the light, but her movements held a newfound grace, a subtle lightness that had been absent before. She walked with purpose across the vast expanse of the floor, the soft clink of her boots the only sound.
Reaching the dais, Glynlie knelt with practiced deference, her head bowed. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice clear and formal, "I came to check your well-being after the what happened yesterday."
King Tronan inclined his head slightly. "I am quite fine, Captain Glynlie. And I observe that you are in good spirits as well."
"Indeed, My King," she affirmed, her eyes meeting his briefly before returning to a respectful focus on the floor.
The King paused, gathering his thoughts. "Excellent. I was about to dispatch an order for you. With the Western Gate having been... occupied, I require a seasoned hand to ensure the Eastern Gate is prepared to welcome the influx of merchants and travelers expected this morning. Proceed there, Captain, and oversee the preparations."
Glynlie, however, remained knelt. Her shoulders were set, her gaze steady. "Your Majesty, I have something to tell you..."
The King's brow arched, a hint of curiosity replacing the weariness in his eyes. "What is it?"
"I respectfully wish to leave as the Captain of Your Majesty's Royal Army," Glynlie stated, her voice unwavering.
A profound silence descended upon the throne room, broken only by the distant caw of a raven outside. King Tronan's expression became unreadable. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low and measured. "Can you provide a suitable explanation about this?"
"After what happened yesterday," Glynlie replied, her voice tinged with a solemn honesty, "my actions were unfit for a General Captain... I believe I deserve to be removed from my position."
King Tronan let out a soft sigh. "You were under the same cursed possession as I, Captain Glynlie. You bear no guilt for what happened yesterday. If your logic is true, then I, too, am unfit to be King, and by your reasoning, I must be punished."
"No, My King, do not say that," Glynlie immediately responded, lifting her head slightly, her voice laced with fervent sincerity. "Neverwinter deserves you as its rightful King."
"And the same holds true for you, Glynlie," King Tronan countered, his voice gaining a quiet strength. "Ever since I appointed you as General Captain, you have displayed a promising and undying loyalty to me and to the crown. You have protected these gates, you have protected me, and you have maintained the peace of Neverwinter. This city deserves you also."
Glynlie lowered her head again, remaining steadfastly on her knees, unable to meet his gaze.
The King continued, his voice softer now, almost paternal. "You know I treat you as my own daughter, and—you know the Law, Glynlie. I cannot permit your resignation, nor can I punish you for things you did not commit. Thus, I see no reason why I should let you depart."
Glynlie remained silent, her shoulders subtly tense, but she did not budge.
King Tronan then stood up from his throne, his movement slow and deliberate, and unsheathed the ceremonial sword from his hip. The polished blade glinted, catching the light. The few onlookers in the throne room stiffened, a collective gasp barely audible.
"But..." the King said, his voice now ringing with a different kind of authority, "I know you are not being entirely honest with yourself, Captain Glynlie. And I could sense, the first time I beheld you, that you never truly belonged to Neverwinter." He walked slowly towards the kneeling Glynlie, the sword held in both hands. When he reached her, he pointed the tip of the blade directly at her, inches from her shoulder. "I, Tronan, Son of Aargon, King of Neverwinter... hereby strip you from your position as the Captain of Neverwinter."
The pronouncement echoed in the silent room, shocking Glynlie, the King's Guard, and the loyal nobles alike. With a swift, practiced movement, King Tronan used the flat of the sword's blade to deftly unfasten and remove Glynlie's heavy Royal Cape, letting it fall to the marble floor with a soft rustle.
"You no longer serve Neverwinter," the King declared, his voice firm, "You no longer serve the crown... and I am no longer your King."
Glynlie slowly lifted her head, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she looked up at him. "My Lord—" she began, her voice a choked whisper.
King Tronan cut her off, his voice softening, a gentle command. "Rise, Glynlie Whitmore. You are no longer bound to me."
Glynlie rose, still gazing at the King, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
The King smiled gently, a profound warmth in his eyes. "You are now... free."
Without a moment's hesitation, Glynlie rushed forward and give the King in a tight embrace. "Thank you, My King—" she murmured into his shoulder, her voice thick with emotion.
King Tronan held her, a soft, knowing smile gracing his lips. "Live your life, Glynlie," he whispered, patting her back. "Live it well."
Glynlie stepped back from the embrace, taking a deep, fortifying breath. She then gave a deep, respectful bow. "Thank you, My King," she said, her voice filled with profound gratitude, "for everything you have done for me."
The King returned to his throne, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Go now," he said, his gaze fixed on her. "But if you ever find yourself seeking shelter within these walls, remember that you are always welcome."
Glynlie simply nodded, a silent promise in her eyes. She bent down, gently placing her helmet beside the discarded Royal Cape on the marble floor. Without another word, she turned and walked towards the grand doors of the throne room, leaving the symbols of her former life behind.
As the doors closed softly behind her, one of the loyal nobles, still visibly unsettled, ventured to speak. "Are you truly certain you wish to let her go, Your Majesty?"
King Tronan leaned back on his throne, a wistful smile gracing his lips. "I merely laid down a path for her towards her destiny," he replied, his gaze distant, "She reminds me of my younger self."
Back at the Western Gate, the heavy cart was finally ready to roll, Bayron having secured the horse and the provisions. Just as Hythesion was about to signal their departure, a familiar sound reached their ears: the rhythmic galloping of a single horse, rapidly approaching from the city. All eyes turned back towards the Western Gate.
Hythesion saw her first. It was Glynlie, riding hard, her movements fluid and free in her unburdened armor. The cart halted. Hythesion jumped down, meeting her halfway as she reined in her steed and gracefully dismounted.
Her face was radiant, eyes sparkling with newfound joy. "The King let me go!" she announced, her voice brimming with delight.
Hythesion smiled, a wave of relief washing over him. "That's great, Glynlie."
They embraced, a moment of quiet understanding passing between them, a shared victory. When they broke apart, Hythesion looked at her expectantly. "So, what's your plan?"
"Thullford," she declared, a determined glint in her eye. "I'm going to Thullford. Kaylla and Osmedious are there, aren't they? I'll find them, see if I can get a mercenary badge."
"Oh they'll be happy to have you back, Glynlie," Hythesion said, genuinely happy for her.
"You're going to Morea?" she asked, her gaze steady.
"Yep," Hythesion replied. "We have to finish this delivery first."
Glynlie leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Safe travels," she whispered. "I'll try to keep up to you." With a final, lingering look, she mounted her horse, gave Hythesion a warm smile, and then turned, heading off in a different direction, towards the distant roads leading to Thullford.
Hythesion watched her go until she was a speck on the horizon, then turned and walked back to the cart. As he entered, he found Geth, Akmenos, Ethan, and Maitara all smiling broadly, their eyes fixed on him with knowing grins.
"What?" Hythesion asked, a flush rising to his cheeks.
"Nothing," they chorused, their smiles widening.
Far away from them, at the very top of the walls in Neverwinter, a jester clown figure sitting there, witnessing all what happened yesterday. His mask is resembling a contorted, smiling clown face with deep red, glowing eyes and a similar red dot on the nose. The mask is surrounded by a mass of dark, curly hair, which adds to its unsettling appearance. His attire consists of a dark red tunic or cloak, also embellished with subtle patterns, and hints of a more elaborate, darker undershirt with metallic accents on the shoulder. This figure has a somewhat playful yet deeply unsettling demeanor due to the glowing eyes and fixed grin... He gave a sinister jester giggle and said "Interesting..." He then stood up and he begin to spin and then immediately vanished out of thin air.