Perhaps it was the cradling quiet of the inn during a late, midweek morning. Or it could have been the strange reassurance that came from receiving a clear outline for a future mission. Even if it was only the faintest outline, like vibrant chalk on a dark cavern wall.

Whatever the reason was, I dreamt vividly.

At first, I was walking along a path I did not recognize. Something cool and softer than I’ve ever traversed beneath my feet, springing slightly when I stepped. Grass. The kind that had grown to its full length in the late spring. I have only read about such things. The only grass I’ve been exposed to prior was scattered and prickly, just beginning to shy away before the winter rolls upon the north. The sky stretched endlessly above me, an enormous blue dome unmarred by cavern ceilings or torch smoke.

And I was… not a svirfneblin.

I did not need to look down to know this. My stride was longer than it had ever felt before. My arms swung easily at my sides without brushing the hems of overgrown sleeves. My posture was straight without effort, as though my spine had never known the habit of shrinking inward.

Clothing brushed against my legs—fine fabric, layered and flowing. Far from the refashioned burlap trousers, scraps of ceremonial robes heavy with expectation, or the patched garments of a traveler trying to remain unseen. These clothes were lovingly weaved without ill purpose, tailored to my figure and enchantingly colorful in the quiet way that flowers are beautiful whether anyone has watched them bloom or not.

My face. I could feel the breeze across it. No mask. No gold, brass or magical barrier between myself and the open air. The sensation was so startlingly pleasant that I laughed aloud, simply to feel the sound move freely from my mouth without the painful tug of scars and fear of repercussion.

My path curved ahead toward a hill, and at its crest stood a house.

Tresendar Manor was now restored. The horrible whispering creature that lurked there had been dealt with, its secrets returned to whatever darkness had birthed it. Inviting light spilled from the manor’s windows. Smoke curled lazily from two opposite chimneys. The structure itself seemed lovingly imperfect. Stone in some places, wood in others, with vines creeping gently up the outer walls as if they had been invited to stay.

I knew the role of this place just from spirit alone.

It was ours.

I approached the door, and before I could reach it, it swung open.

Super hopped out first.

He landed on the path with a confident bounce. Even in this realm, he wouldn’t dare question whether he belonged anywhere. His clothes were as humble as they’ve always been, but dyed with more vibrant hues as there was no remaining reason to stalk through the wilderness any longer. In one hand he carried a jar—pickled flower buds, judging from their shape and beautiful goldenrod sheen, even amidst the brine. He lifted it toward me like a celebratory toast.

“Heyyy, she’s home,” he called.

Silly vorun’kai.

I grinned. I couldn’t help it. It felt painless. So natural.

Behind him came Jack.

He ducked slightly under the doorway as he stepped out, though in truth he did not need to. Just a habit. His usually well-kept attire hung loose over the larger scales upon his shoulders, evidence of comfort. The rifle was absent from his hands, and in its place he held a carpenter’s hammer (comically small in his massive claws), which he turned thoughtfully as though he had just paused his latest leisure project to greet me.

“Ah,” he said when he saw me, that familiar half-smile tugging at his mouth. “There you are. Thought you might’ve wandered off.”

The words carried none of the worry they once might have. They were such a casual greeting. His tone said that he knew… that no matter where I went, I would come back.

Dear barak’vel.

From inside the house drifted the sound of music.

The joyous laughter and singing of children.

A hurdy-gurdy.

The melody was cheerful and winding, the sort of tune that made even still air feel as though it were dancing. I knew that song. I knew the man who played it. And I knew, from the accompanying voices, that he had gotten his wish.

Eth’voria…

For just a moment my chest tightened with the closest sensation to pain I’ve felt there as of yet.

Finnegan’s laughter echoed faintly between the notes, as if memory itself had found a way to hum along.

I promised I would sing with him next time. I couldn’t wait to enter.

Ragar appeared next, leaning against the doorframe with an air of carefully cultivated disinterest. But the tension in her shoulders was gone. Her arms were crossed, yes, though the gesture looked less like a barrier and more like habit.

“You just gonna keep staring?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kel’shara, without a doubt.

I realized then that I had been.

“Sorry,” I answered, looking down.

She shrugged, but there was the smallest flicker of warmth in her eyes.

Inside, voices overlapped. Boots moved across wooden floors. Kids footfalls scampered here and there. Smeak’s unmistakable trill pitched passionately with some off-view stranger about where a cart should be stored now that we had “proper infrastructure,” whatever that meant.

And then Raph’æl stepped through the doorway, looking remarkably light in spirit. The heavy weight that always seemed to rest somewhere behind his eyes had loosened its grip. His shoulders were relaxed and unencumbered, his hands resting comfortably at his sides rather than gripping a holy symbol as though it were the only thing keeping him standing.

When he saw me, he smiled. A real smile, rather than the careful one he seemed to only use to reassure others.

“Fanesca,” he said.

My name sounded different when spoken here. In many ways.

Fonder. Safer. Truer than any temporary moniker thrust upon me. And though I had no idea what he was to me in this realm, I knew it was everything that I needed.

My mir’thaleth…

I trembled. Felt a swell of something inside my chest—something bright and frightening and hopeful all at once.

This was the joy I had never known throughout my life.

No need to hide. The doors were always open. Laughter lingered in the air long after the anecdote had been told.

This was home.

And I could stay.

I could walk inside that manor. I could sit at that table and listen to the little ones’ imaginative stories for hours. I could descend the stairs to my room in the cellar, decorated with dangling sea glass in every visible corner. I could sit by a fire built for comforting warmth rather than traveling necessity and watch friendships grow deeper with every passing season.

My mask forever set down, never to cast a veil between me and the ones I’ve grown to love.

The thought wrapped around my heart like the sunlight that greeted me with aggressive hope the day I left the Underdark.

I took a step toward the doorway.

Another.

The light from inside spilled over the threshold and onto the grass at my feet. I could hear the music more clearly now, the cheerful rhythm of it weaving through the house like a heartbeat. That familiar tune that Finnegan once begged for me to sing along with.

Now I could. I could.

For the first time in a very long while, the future did not look like a dark, narrow tunnel.

It looked like a window.

And I was almost close enough to step into its threshold—

“Little light.”

The voice was soft.

Golden.

It did not come from the house. It came from somewhere indescribably deep in my heart. Somewhere inside the space where dreams and waking thoughts touch.

“Little light,” it repeated gently.

I stopped.

The house remained before me, warm and bright. My friends… my loves… looking and anticipating my arrival.

But the golden voice trembled with a sadness I had come to recognize.

“You must wake.”

“…No.” I did not want to.

Please. Just a few more steps and I could reach the door. I need this. Just a few more steps and the bliss spilling from inside would touch my hands. My face. My painless, unburned face…

“It is not time yet,” the voice whispered. “Do not build a life here.”

My chest tightened.

The sting of reality pierced my mind.

“It’s… far too good for the likes of me, isn’t it,” I whispered.

“No.” The answer came without hesitation. “Idyllic… but not wholly impossible.”

The voice softened further, almost pleading now.

“However… if you stay, you will burn yourself in a dream of tomorrow and forget to live today.”

The light from the doorway flickered.

The grass beneath my feet began to feel less solid.

“Return,” the voice murmured. “There is still work to do.”

I looked at the manor one last time.

At the open door.

At my friends waiting inside.

Hope swelled in my chest until it ached dangerously.

So dangerous… I had to let go.

The world dissolved like mist in morning sunlight.

Could I possibly build anything close to this…?

…Nythra.