Somehow, Marian was aware of the exact moment she returned to Sidhegaard. She couldn't explain it - there were no sudden sounds or smells to clue her in, nor had she even left the darkness of the space between worlds. The sensation was like she had been wearing a strange gown and had changed into her comfortable travelling cloak. She knew implicitly that she was back in the world she had called home.

She also knew that something was wrong.

The first thing that struck Marian was the cold. The unseasonable chill carried by the breeze had grown to a frigid turbulence. The wind carried the familiar tang of winter's decay.

But it was in the middle of summer when I left... As the darkness faded and Sidhegaard appeared once more, Marian looked to the sky for answers.

Growing up in a desert oasis, an overcast sky was the sign of coming rain and new life. The sight of grey skies even now made Marian feel a kind of quiet joy. And yet, seeing a sky devoid of clouds yet shaded entirely in withering grey hues around a blackened sun, she felt nothing but unease.

The crunch of dead grass being trampled underfoot alerted Marian to Tracey's presence. The small girl's mouth opened wide as she took in the world around her.

"Is this normal?" Tracey's question was rhetorical, judging by the dubious tone in her voice.

"First time I've seen anything like this," Marian admitted. "Might be we're in a different part of the world? Somewhere I've never been."

Tracey shook her head. "We're outside Greenbriar Copse." She pulled out her notebook as she started towards a dead tree, its trunk naturally split down the middle. "Made a note of this tree. But it was greener..."

"If we're right outside Greenbriar," Marian commented as she scanned the area, "then the village should be right at the foot of this hill..."

Greenbriar Copse was a small village nestled amid a forest of thin, tightly-packed trees. It was far from a major city, but it had a modest population of humble, salt-of-the-earth people who called the forest their home since ancient times. In all senses of the word, Greenbriar Copse was a thriving community.

It was.

All that sat at the bottom of the hill now was a collection of bare and broken tree trunks and the skeletons of buildings, blackened and twisted from the all-consuming heat of a fire long extinguished.

Marian had only visited the town a small handful of times in her journeys. She had no personal connection to the place, not since Wendy had moved out to live with Nathaniel in Cauldibery. Marian hadn't known any of Wendy's family or friends from the area, having mostly kept with the party during their visits.

She didn't need any of that to recognize the tragedy of a once-thriving community that was now a hollow parody of its former self. Greenbriar Copse had once been home to a couple hundred people, several thousand animals, and hundreds of thousands of plants. Now it was home to nothing but fading ash.

Marian watched the scene far below in muted horror. She heard her knees thud onto the too-dry earth and had to plant her hands on the ground to catch herself from collapsing. Feeling something lumpy under one of her gloves, Marian tentatively lifted her hand. A little shoe lay underneath, just a little bigger than her palm.

"Marian?" Tracey's voice broke through. "What...?"

Though Marian hadn't looked up, the silence that followed told her that Tracey had seen the village.

Marian stared at the shoe for a little longer. Subconsciously, she rubbed her glove across the surface, feeling at the fringes of a fire-worn hole. The almost-imperceptible odor of burnt leather played at her nose. She heard herself muttering, "What happened?"

"It's started," Tracey solemnly declared. Marian looked over to the little girl and saw abject fear plain on her face.

"Didn't you say you passed through here before?" Marian could feel the panic building in her heart. "Why didn't you write about this?!"

Tracey opened her mouth, but Marian cut her off with an accusatory finger. "And don't you dare tell me that it was too complicated for a letter." She propped herself onto one knee, then rose back up, keeping her finger leveled at the little girl. "Let me dictate one for you: 'Dear Wyvern Hunter, Greenbriar Copse is burning, please send help. Love, Tracey.' Is that really so complicated?"

Tracey scowled but kept her voice at an even cadence. "It didn't look like this before."

Marian scoffed. "You don't say?"

Tracey ignored the bait and pushed on. "I was on the road for a few days. Waited in Bluebell Fields for a few more. Plenty of time for..." she trailed off, but her pained glance at the desiccated village made her meaning clear.

After a moment, she shook her head, repeating, "It's started. I missed them..."

"Missed who? What's started?" Marian was getting annoyed by Tracey's ability to stay calm.

"Whatever's making worlds disappear. Must've arrived after I did. Never seen what it looks like."

Hysteria had a vice grip on Marian's thinking, but if she understood what Tracey was saying...

"You brought this here?! You caused this?!?"

Tracey gave Marian a flat look. "Don't be silly."

"'Silly'? You think this is silly?! What, does a town getting torched normally amuse you, or does it have to be a really special occasion?"

"Calm down."

"Oh, yeah, sure! Easy for you to say when it's not your world that's-"

There was an edge to Tracey's voice as she insisted, "Marian, calm down. Not the time. Can talk more when we're out of here."

Marian took a deep breath to collect herself. Much as the little pipsqueak was getting on her nerves, she had a point. "Right... okay. The Wyvern Hunter will know what to do. I'll take us to-"

"No, Marian. Out of this world."

Marian's breath died in her throat. "Huh?"

Tracey once more surveyed the grey sky, the withering land, and the desolate village. "It's the end of the world. We can't stay here. Need to find safety in another world."

A torrent of words rallied at Marian's lips. How dare this foreigner come to Marian's world and insist she knew it better than her! How callous was she, to so easily instruct her to turn her back on everything she knew!

But the words to which Marian gave voice were the obvious explanation to everything. She was surprised it had slipped her mind before now. "What if the world isn't ending? What if it's just a new Dark Lord?"

"'Dark Lord'?" Tracey seemed to be tasting the title like it was some foreign aperitif.

"Sure! Like Maldracons or Barbaneromus. You know."

At the small girl's dubious headshake - how could she not know what a Dark Lord was? - Marian continued. "Villains like them show up every couple years to cause trouble! You see weird stuff like this all the time when they're around."

"You said you'd never seen thi-"

"But! The Wyvern Hunter takes them down easily enough! It's what he does! We just gotta find him, he'll make it all right!"

Tracey looked uncomfortable as she urged, "Marian, we don't have time for..."

"I'll bring us right to him! Just you wait! It'll just take a minute!" She snapped up her tome and started flipping through it as noisily as possible. She'd show this shrimp how little she knew about Sidhegaard. Then she'd understand that this was just a normal, garden-variety tragedy.

"Marian, if we don't get out of here-"

"Ah! Here we are! 'Travel'!" She jabbed the top of the page hard enough to stub her finger, but she ignored the pain. "This is where my Travel spells are! All I have to do is use 'Migrat', and we'll be right where the Wyvern Hunter is! Watch!"

"Marian! We are going to-!"

The witch drowned out the little brat's protests by reciting the memory's entry aloud. It was difficult, but she was able to split her mental focus from the noises and conjure both the memory for the spell and the mental image of Redcrest Abbey Ruins. In truth, she didn't know precisely where the Wyvern Hunter or her companions were, but she figured it was too early for them to be back in Cobblestone Keep, so the old abbey would be the next-best place to look.

Marian was only dimly aware of the tug she felt on her robe as she finished casting the spell. The other sensations she normally felt with travel - the feeling of her stomach being yanked inward and intestines unravelling - went by unnoticed as she vanished completely from the hill overlooking the ruins of Greenbriar Copse.

---

The world outside the Redcrest Abbey Ruins was little better than Greenbriar Copse. The sky was still painted in darkening grey and illuminated by a black sun. The ground was cracked, and the grass was brown and bereft of life. The stones that made up the old Redcrest Abbey were crumbled and shattered - though this at least was not unusual for the long-abandoned church.

Marian found herself in the middle of the dirt path leading to the abbey's cellar entrance. It had been a long time since her last visit, but if she remembered the way, beyond the cellar was an expansive, submerged basement full of monsters. If the Wyvern Hunter were here, that was where she'd most likely find him.

She was getting ready to step forward when she felt a weight pulling at her side. Anticipating a monster attack, she spun her head as her fingers probed through her book for an Offensive spell. She eased up when she realized it was only Tracey, slumped and clinging to her travelling cloak.

Despite how plainly obvious Tracey's face had been to read, her expression now was an indescribable mess of shapes. Somehow, Marian had no trouble interpreting it as absolute bewilderment. "What... what was...?!"

"Travel spell! I brought us here with 'Migrat'! Just like I told you!"

"Dizzy..." Tracey clutched Marian's cloak desperately as she tried to pull herself to her feet.

Marian didn't have time to deal with this. She yanked her cloak away, sending Tracey falling to the ground. "You stay here! I'm gonna go get the Wyvern Hunter!" She returned her tome to the holster on her side as she started running towards the cellar entrance.

Marian could hear Tracey scrabbling at the ground as she called out, "Marian! Marian!"

"He'll sort all this out! You'll see! Everything will be okay!" She continued to shout encouragement until the pounding of her boots on the stone cellar steps put Tracey out of earshot.

Everything in the cellar was as Marian remembered. The room was squat but wide, with ancient timbers supporting the low stone ceiling. Big wine casks lined the walls in rows, standing as long-forgotten reminders of the old order that had once lived in the abbey above. The stone floor was overlaid with a carpet of dirt and dust. Besides the one by which she had entered, there were two other sets of stairs - one trailing up into what used to be the abbey proper, and another leading down. When she and her party had last visited, Gordon had quite solemnly referred to the twisting corridors below as "the Dungeon".

Marian pushed through the musty cellar with little thought as she made a beeline for the stairs down. She paid little mind to the broken casks she had to weave around in the middle of the cellar, nor to the burning torches that dotted the stairway down into the Dungeon, nor to the repugnant odor - equal parts wet animal and rotten meat - that filled the Dungeon's first chamber. The moment her feet touched down on level ground, she charged ahead with as much speed as she could muster, heedless of the ruckus she caused.

Marian couldn't care less if there were any monsters lurking in the shadows. The chattering bats, glistening of forgotten armor, and piles of the deceased's bones were as unimportant as cobwebs during her mad dash through the Dungeon's corridors. Even when she came to a fork in the path, she chose a direction on impulse and continued. To stop and contemplate between routes would have taken up time she didn't have.

Despite this, the thoughts she'd been trying to outrun caught up with her. What if Tracey was right? What if Sidhegaard was in danger from an otherworldly threat? Would the Wyvern Hunter know what to do?

Would the Wyvern Hunter want to help?

"Of course, he will!" She panted. "He's the Wyvern Hunter!" Her breath came back in ragged bursts. "He has to help!" The thick, acidic bite of exhaustion filled her lungs. "It's his job!"

Her sprint slowed to a jog, then a walk. The sound of her labored breathing filled the chamber as she had to stop to catch her breath. The moment she did, her head was filled with images of the Wyvern Hunter's unsympathetic glare and his dismissal of her several days ago. Why would he care about anything Marian had to say? Why was she risking his wrath by seeking him out after he had forbidden her from joining on his mission? Why hadn't she stayed back at the castle like she was supposed to?

"He has to make everything all better! That's all that matters!" With a sharp gasp to steel her nerves, the desperate witch shoved her worry back down and resumed her run.

Marian continued to push through the Dungeon, paying little mind to where she was going. Twice, she'd run into dead ends, and twice she'd doubled back and taken the first turn that presented itself. She'd run down a couple more flights of stairs, feeling the subterranean chill intensify as she wandered further into the bowels of the earth. All she needed - all she yearned for - was a sign that the Wyvern Hunter or any of her companions were here.

The first sign she got was when she reached the landing at the base of another flight of stairs, rounded a corner, and saw a bright red splatter color the wall at an odd angle.

The sight brought Marian to a halt. Her breath caught as she felt dread welling in the pit of her stomach. The ripe, coppery smell left no doubt as to the crimson substance's identity. The only question was...

"...whose blood is this?"

Marian refused to give voice to the first answer that sprang to mind. Instead, in a wavering whisper, she assured herself, "Could be a monster's... could've been a fight..."

It wasn't long before Marian saw another sanguine streak on the floor. The mark here was long and thin, no wider than her forearm, and stretched past what was illuminated by the solitary torch on the wall.

She reached to pull the torch from its sconce but hesitated when she saw how much her hand was shaking. "M-must be c-colder than I thought," she lied.

She snatched the torch and pulled it close, coveting the meager comfort it provided. With another breath to slow her speeding heart, she started down the corridor at a trepidatious walk.

The macabre trail continued on and on. It wended through a couple doorways and across a few open, empty chambers. The further the trail stretched, the more Marian feared what she'd find at its end. She knew from her studies that the human body only contained five liters of blood. How much had she passed so far? How much ground could a cup of blood cover? Had she already seen a pint? How much could a person bleed before they-?

She heard voices!

Marian's feet and thoughts froze at once. She moved her free hand to cup the flame, keeping its glow to a minimum without extinguishing it. She strained her ears, but the voices were too indistinct. She'd have to get closer.

Moving as silently as she could, Marian pressed her back against a wall, then started easing her way down the passage. She made slow progress, pausing after every step to listen. The voices were louder each time, but the words remained noises without shape. Both hands now were shaking, as was her leg with every stride forward. Once, she almost dropped the torch and was forced to wait several agonizing seconds as she recomposed herself. All the while, she kept one eye trained on the vermillion path that coated the floor before her.

Finally, the solid wall she was following turned into a set of old doors. The red trail paused here, then lead through the doors. Loud noises Marian couldn't recognize punctuated the now-shouting voices, though the clamor made it too difficult to pick out what they were saying. She stood there for a minute, straining to interpret the sounds, when a loud crash cut through. There were a couple other smaller sounds, then silence.

Marian gave an anxious sigh. If she wanted to know what was going on in there, she'd have to risk a peek.

She reached her leg out and planted it in front of the doors, then took half a step forward. She moved her free hand with great caution, groping at the doorknob. She slowly twisted the knob, then gingerly pivoted her foot. The great door came ajar, soundlessly drifting through the air as her foot pushed.

In any other circumstance, Marian would've smiled. Sandra had insisted that maneuver was something only a "master of sneakiness" could pull off, but Marian always thought the move seemed rather straightforward. With the situation being what it was, the grim witch could only nod in personal acknowledgement before continuing.

After making sure her boot would keep the door from gliding shut, Marian yanked her hand back to shield the light. Pushing off her back foot, she stepped towards the open crack and peered into the chamber beyond.

Marian's vision was limited by the edges of the door, but what she saw of the room suggested it was wide and tall. Stone pillars seemed to be forming a ring around an open middle, illuminated by torches like the one the witch now held. She couldn't see the ceiling, nor could she see walls to the sides of her crack. The shadows in the room were drawn tight like heavy curtains, but she could at least see the outline of a door on the opposite wall.

Two figures were standing in the middle of the ring of pillars. The more striking of the two appeared to be a shadow on the wall, only one freely standing without anything to cast it. Marian strained her eyes as she studied this person. There was a clear neck by which she could differentiate the form's head and shoulders. From the head emanated hair, curling and billowing like smoke in all directions. Beneath the shoulders was a vague humanoid form, fanning out as it neared the ground as though it were wearing a large ball gown. Devoid of detail, the being's appearance told Marian little about who it was or what it was doing. She couldn't even tell where it was looking, as the creature had no face or eyes to speak of.

Save for its hair, the shadow stood completely still as it regarded the other figure, a stocky man dressed in leather armor. He was facing away from the door and was hunched over. With the thick door open, Marian could hear the man's labored breathing. He sounded exhausted, though not in pain or any other distress.

Before long, the man looked up at the shadow. In a ragged voice, he said, "Well, Jack's a donut and there ye 'ave it. 'Ave I passed me test?"

In her adventures with the Wyvern Hunter, she'd only ever run into one man with such a distinct figure and accent. Under her breath, she wondered, "Barney...?"

Before she could try to interpret what he'd just said, her thoughts were cut off by a strange, hollow voice. "You have impressed us. We thought this to be beyond your abilities." There was a creeping chill to these words, which seemed to emanate from the shadowy figure rather than be spoken by it.

"Maybe ye'll think twice next time before ye doubt the Bandit King," the man grumbled, leaving little doubt as to his identity.

As though a sudden wind had blown through the room, the torches flickered, their flames very briefly fading to pinpricks. When the light returned, the shadow had shifted positions, its head pointed away from the center of the ring. Barney was collapsed on the floor. There had been no sound of struggle, but now Marian heard Barney groaning with pain as he slowly righted himself.

The voice intoned, "Because you have pleased me, I will suffer your arrogance on this day. I advise you not to make a habit of it."

Barney winced as he stood up. "Y-yes, yer Shadowiness."

The lights flickered out again. When they returned. Barney was flat on his back, and the shadow was standing at another point in the ring, its head pointed towards Barney.

"What was that about?!"

"That is not my alias," the Shadow spoke. There was no cruelty or fury to this statement. It was spoken as though it were a simple, obvious truth.

As he rose again, Barney grumbled, "With all due respect, if'n yer gonna 'ave a row every time I call ye something ye dun like, ye could at least tell me yer name."

Another lapse in light found the shade in a different part of the ring and Barney with his face firmly planted into the stone floor.

"We do not use names within our organization. To speak one's name is to have power over it. I, alone, may wield the organization's names."

"Mmephh, phee, phaash -" Barney pulled his face from the floor. "-that's good to know. Maybe now I can talk to ye without hacking ye-"

One more flash of darkness found Barney in a heap against one of the pillars. The shadow regarded his form from the center of the ring.

"Guess not."

"My alias is 'Buleyak.' So long as you belong to our organization, you will address me as such."

The thug pulled himself up the pillar with some effort. He groaned. "Alrighty, Boo-lay-ack. I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do."

Marian held her breath, waiting for the shadow - Buleyak - to do whatever it had been doing to Barney. Instead, a silent moment passed as it watched Barney dust himself off.

"Tell me, Buleyak. 'Ow's this alias bosh work? Do ye choose nicknames for everyone, or...?"

The shadowy form of Buleyak swirled like mist evaporating off a pond, though the figure did not shift its position. "I suppose you had something in mind?"

"Well, now. I ain't aiming to impose or nothing. Just figured that there was already a title for me, and it'd be a waste and all not to use it."

Marian could swear she heard a long-suffering sigh as the shadow, unflinching, regarded the man. "You may be 'Bandit King', if you so desire."

Barney pumped his arms enthusiastically. "Yyyyyes! Finally! Someone willing to show the Bandit King the respect 'e deserves!"

"Non i titoli illustrono gli uomini, ma gli uomini i titoli..."

Marian's confusion at the shadow's strange tongue was voiced by Barney's, "Oi?"

"Merely musing on the importance of titles to the simple-minded."

Barney cast a glare at the shadow. "Well, there's no call for insults, ye-er, Buleyak. I got yer test done, didn't I?"

The shadowy form roiled, but the lights stayed lit. "You followed the letter of the test, but not the spirit."

"Aoh, now yer just moving the goalposts, you is. Ye said ye wanted the 'Unter's 'ead on a silver platter, and that's what ye got!"

Marian gasped as her heart lurched to a stop. "The Wyvern Hunter's...?" She couldn't complete the sentence, not even to herself.

To her horror, Barney continued. "More than you asked fer, even! I threw in the others free of charge!"

The Bandit King continued to speak, but the words were lost to Marian. All feeling inside her body slowly drained away. An uncontrollable shiver coursed through her once again.

It was everything she could do not to let herself fall limp. She caught herself just before the torch could slip through her fingers. She could not let herself dwell on these thoughts. Not now.

She took a sharp breath to steady herself. It did little good, but it was enough that she could focus on the conversation once more.

"...the purpose of your test was to quell all resistance before our forces overtook this world. This, you did not do."

Barney was slowly standing up from a different point in the ring of pillars. Marian reasoned she must have missed Buleyak in motion again. "But I did. No 'Unter, no resistance."

"What of the Wyvern Hunter's companions?"

"All accounted for. Ye saw me take most of 'em 'ere, and me and yer boys got to the archer and the guardsman first."

Despite all the horrible things Marian had heard over the last minute, it was the next words that made her blood run cold: "And the witch, Marian Harradin?"

"What, that girlie? Aoh, don't you trouble yerself none about 'er. The 'Unter don't let 'er out no more. She's not even worth worrying about."

Whatever emotions Marian felt at this dismissal were cut off by another flash of shadows. She was surprised when, for the first time, her own torch was extinguished. Through the darkness echoed the words, "Are you certain of that?"

Then came the attack.