The door vanishes and all shield their eyes from the sudden light reflected off gold, silver, and hundreds of gems. The circular room rises upwards forever, its top unseeable beyond the distance, and intermittent windows filter shafts of light down onto the immeasurable treasure piled around the resplendent room paneled in fine mahogany wood.

Zips begins to breathe heavily, partly from the overabundance of food coursing through her system, partly from being in the presence of such wealth, and slowly removes a sack from her pack.

Tyrvaan sluggishly steps forward, surveying the fantastical dishware, beautiful armour, and stalwart weapons spread haphazardly through the piles of treasure and grunts with satisfaction. Then sighs, as his eyes land upon the far door. He approaches as sparks of light move and coalesce upon its beautifully craft frame.

Tyrvaan blinks, his vision blurring as he tries to read the words, then puts an arm to the wall and takes a deep breath, the food choosing at that moment to usurp so much of his energy that reading itself becomes a chore.

Misxibis and Zips ignore the struggling dragon and dive into the piles of treasure, shoveling things indiscriminately into their bags, aiming for what they believe will be the most valuable. Heri and Charles take a more conservative approach, wandering around the piles and eyeing items carefully without touching them. Zylnan shakes his head at this display and heads towards Tyrvaan.

"Hey buddy, maybe try the next notch?" he comments, gesturing to his belt. Tyrvaan peers at him through hazy eyes, his mouth open wide as he sucks in air and sweat begins to bead visibly on his scales.

"Armour... doesn't have notches...," he breathes and Zylnan steps around him, peering at the sparkling words on the door and then blinks as they appear to shake and spin. He blinks a few times, then turns to Tyrvaan, who continues to blink and focus on the dancing light.

"I think... the food... is...," Zylnan mumbles and Tyrvaan groans in agreement. Heri steps up beside them, looking at the pair of panting adventurers, and shakes his head, before reading the words aloud.

"Take or Leave."

"We can't take anything and leave," he shouts to the others, then pushes on the door. It doesn't budge as Tyrvaan and Zylnan both make a similar attempt.

"I don't think that's what it means," Zips says, stuffing more items into her sack.

"Yes, maybe take something, or leave something, then can go," Misxibis shouts, mimicking Zips' actions.

"Hmmmm," Tyrvaan growls and waddles awkwardly towards one of the nearby piles, swiping at its contents with his mace between deep breaths of overfed exhaustion.

Charles pauses before a pile, leans in closer and grabs the butt of a metal staff wrapped in fine blue cloth, pulling its head from the pile and sighing with wonder as its silver crescent head emerges, its fine metal glittering with runes. He leans on it, testing its strength and waves his hand before him. Arcane energy plays across his fingers and he nods, tossing his weather-beaten staff into his pack and holding this one high. Pale blue light dances along its length and blossoms in the centre of the crescent moon. Charles emits a squeak of joy. Satisfied with his find he walks towards the exit and leans forward to push on the door, vanishing from sight.

"See!" Zips shouts, "maybe there's more treasure through the door! Quick!" and shovels a final arm sweep of wealth into her bag, before hefting it over her shoulder and charging through the door, vanishing upon contact.

Misxibis nods happily and then begins to search a little more carefully as if looking for a particular item, picking up and discarding several weapons, books, and dishes before her eyes fall upon a dark wooden box. She scoops it from the pile, flicks it open, pulls the scroll out, and unravels its length.

"Lost verses of the great song," she breathes in wonder before reading it aloud.

A party filled with dwarves and men,
And elves came from afar.
With charts and picks to find the gold,
That sleeps 'neath Sabal-Har.

Though treasure is not all that waits,
Within the city's heart.
A power once feared and praised,
By those of Falima.

The Harza stone - its beating heart -
Captured from a star.
Controlling fates of wanderers still,
It sleeps 'neath Sabal-Har.

They say it rests within the chest,
Of the city Tel'aneen.
A place of power, a place possessed,
By who walked serene.

Beware the snares below the ground,
The vines that grasp and seize,
Many robbers rest below
Trapped 'neath Sabal-Har.

Those that seek the gold and rest,
Rarely do return.
For often they forget the test,
That awaits them in turn.

"It not finished, still more to sing," she mutters, hoisting her sack of wealth and moving towards the exit, playing the verses over in her head, and vanishes as she reaches the door.

Zylnan lifts a glowing sword from the pile before him and as the glow fades smiles, removing his sword from his hip and putting it on his back, strapping the new one in its place, before following the others through the door.

Tyrvaan copies his friend, finally pushing the food-coma haze from his mind, and reaches deeper into the pile of treasure, pulling free a golden shield, its surface flawlessly crafted into the shape of a roaring dragon with sparkling eyes. Hanging beneath it in a leather strap rests a matching mace, its head the jagged form of a dragon's head, eyes alight with a golden glow. He nods in satisfaction and follows the others through the door, leaving Heri alone.

He pushes gold and gems aside, revealing a shaft of feywood. Veins of green trace its length and small leaves and petals sprout about it. Heri smiles and pulls it free, testing the bowstring of unicorn hair, and smiles, before leaving the room.

He appears before the others who look up from their discussion, acknowledging his bow with a nod before continuing.

"I like the desert, let's go this way!" Zips chirps, pointing to their left where sand rises up and around and a corner.

"I'm with Zips," Charles adds. "That way is familiar. The other way... looks alien to me." He gestures towards the right path, shrouded in verdant trees and plants of purples, reds, and blues, each glowing with fey lights. Tyrvaan nods, moving closer to Zips as does Zylnan. Misxibis and Heri share a look and peer towards the forest.

"I vant to see that way, looks special and prettier," Misxibis nods.

"...like home," Heri adds with a whisper, his thoughts dwelling on his family.

"Take care Zips. See you on other side," Misxibis smiles, walking into the vibrant underbrush with Heri and vanishing from sight.

"Okay," Zips whispers, turning to the others and following as they trudge upwards into the sand, their legs sinking up to their shins.

The going is tough as the sand sucks at their feet and as they turn the corner and slide down a steep incline, huge sitting statues appear, broken and weather-worn. Their tops rise into a roofless sky of blues and greys and the walls shimmer to a transparent film, revealing an endless sea of sand beyond.

"Whoa," Charles breathes as they stride onwards. The sand deepens with each step becoming hard to push against. They fall into single file as Tyrvaan pushes ahead, leaving a quickly filling trail behind him.

"Tyrvaan, put me on your shoulders, please!" Zips shouts, the sand at her chin as she waves her hands above her head. He sighs, lifting her effortlessly from the sucking sand, and places her on his back, giant sack of treasure and all.

Stone grinds on stone as they progress, filling the void of the desert and all see the heads of the great statues turning at their passing. The greatest of statues lies ahead and as the characters approach its feet its eyes flash with radiant light and a voice booms from its static mouth, filling the silence and resonating within each of them.

Bare your soul, or burn for it!

Charles, Tyrvaan, Zips, and Zylnan share a look as the purpose becomes clear in their heads, a secret untold, a painful one. Silence descends upon the endless desert, and a gust sends sand sailing high into the air as the statues wait for their tribute.

"In the circus," Zips begins, "the elders told me I was traded in a great trade and my parents were royalty... but I've always suspected it was a lie. And that I was just cast into the streets, left for dead. I don't know where to begin to look for who I am, and where I come from, but really... I'm scared of the truth...," Zips looks up at the great statue, from within her hood, tears in her eyes as silence once more fills the void of the desert.

Scars upon your soul, lessen with each telling.
Seek solace in truth and openness. It will set you free.

Another breeze flows past and Zips feels a lightness within. She jumps from Tyrvaan's shoulder, sack in hand, and lands atop the sand without sinking. She smiles peering up into the sky and continues walking past the statue and around a huge stone wall at its base.

"Zips, no! Don't go!" Tyrvaan calls.

"Don't be such a scaredy cat Dragon and hurry up!" Zips shouts back. Tyrvaan emits a puff of steam and lets out a slow breath.

"Back when I was fighting. Against the constant invasion of The Host, there was a time when I and some brothers of my chapter were sent out scouting. We were ambushed...," he pauses, his jaw tightening before continuing. "I only survived because I left my dying brothers behind. I didn't even carry them home, their bodies and souls, lost forever, because of me." His head drops to his chest and everyone holds a breath as the sand blows once more.

Scars upon your soul, lessen with each telling.
Seek atonement in honouring their sacrifice.

Tyrvaan nods, taking a step and climbing up onto the top of the deep sand, a lightness in his step. "I've suffered and bled greatly for that action, and that night I learnt. Those who fight beside me are worth fighting for.

"Don't worry paladin. I know you're a good person," Zips says, patting him on his arm as he reaches her. Charles sighs and takes a step forward.

"My whole life, I've wanted to follow the archeologist guild. It was all I ever wanted, and I was good at it. My family was wealthy enough to get me in, but I was often eclipsed by my younger brother. He was amazing at everything," Charles stops and takes a deep breath. "When we heard the news he had died. Within my grief there was a hint of happiness... that I would no longer have to compete with him." Zylnan sucks in a long breath and looks away as silence falls.

Scars upon your soul, lessen with each telling.
Seek understanding for those lost in the sands.

Charles tilts his head at the cryptic words and walks forward, his head held low. Zylnan pats at his armour and the sword upon his back.

"These once belonged to better men. Ones I didn't even bury. They died right in front of my eyes and I couldn't save them. I couldn't protect them, but I had to survive, so I took it for myself."

Another voice booms from one of the distant statues.

"Couldn't, or wouldn't." The words are met with several dramatic gasps of air from those waiting.

"I... I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough. I fell, and when I awoke, it was too late. I feared the attacker would come back. I took what I could and ran." Lightness fills his chest and he steps forward onto the raised sand.

Scars upon your soul lessen with each telling.

Seek redemption by protecting those now precious to you.

Zylnan marches towards the other and as he arrives they all share nods of acknowledgment and acceptance before turning and stepping through the door.

Charles gasps as a burning pain emanates into his wrist and he pulls his sleeve back to see a sizzling mark there. He arches an eyebrow and gasps as words whisper through his mind.

Your lithe movements tell of secrets. Your shape, seductions. Eyes and hearts follow you, and they should. For the deepness of your yearning is as fiery as hell's inferno. And when it burns you strike. What follows is never known, but its lust is put to rest, for now, and those in your wake will not be missed.

His eyes widen as he peers around fervently, but no one notices, and he slips his sleeve down, hiding the mark, but feels deep inside a fire kindle with desire.

Zips pulls her glove up over the mark and pats it to hide the smoke of burnt flesh and laughs at a comment from Zylnan, as she peers around cautiously.

Life is what you own. What you take. What you earn. Through intellect, charm, and blood. You take from those unable to contend. You use those unable to escape. You kill those who get in your way. Nothing sates the hunger of your greed, and nothing ever will. Only taking what you deserve grants you a reprieve.

Zips twitches at the words, her eyes flicking back and forth as a bottomless hunger for more spawns deep within her heart.

The beautiful forest parts, revealing a tranquil glade. A small wood, straw, and leaf hut stands across a reflective pond, and dozens of luminous insects zip and flutter through the air around them. A warm breeze rustles the treetops high above and the scent of spring fills the air.

"It's just like home," Heri mutters, peering at the magical ambiance of the world. Misxibis walks towards the hut and opens the small door, peering in. A gnome-sized bed of leaves sits in the corner beside several tree stumps of different sizes grown from the ground as chairs and tables. Plates shaped like lilypads and wooden cups made from the tops of giant acorns lie across several of the surfaces. Misxibis claps excitedly as Heri comes up beside her.

"It vonderful!" Heri nods.

"But, no one's here. Let's keep going." The two of them continue, leaving the glade behind and walking along a stone path. They pass vibrant flowers and colourful trees before reaching a stout wooden door in the bole of a great tree trunk. Words slide across the wood, like leaves blown in the breeze and the two of them sigh.

Gaze into the waters.

Something catches Misxibis' eye and the light around her reflection dims and darkens. Her reflection beckons her with a finger before it changes to pure light and Misxibis falls forward into it. There is no wetness or pain as she hits its surface, only soft comfort and warmth.

Misxibis sits up in bed, kicking fine sheets of silk away with a start. She wipes the sweat from her forehead and swings her legs to the side, sliding the curtain of her four-poster bed aside and peering at the huge, lavish room. She scoops the red satin dressing gown from the floor and throws it on, striding across the chamber and throwing open massive doors of glass to a wide, immaculate balcony. The light of the summer sun shines across the blue ocean and across the beautiful golden sand beach that stretches from horizon to horizon.

She takes a breath of clear summer air, leaning on her balcony's railing, and looks down into her garden. Paths wind through rare plants and trees, leading to different pavilions and patios, and beyond a thick black gate gathers a crowd, their cheers and shouts barely audible from such a distance.

Misxibis turns, heading back into her bedroom, and sighs happily. She walks to her writing desk and scoops several sheaves of paper up, reading through the beautifully crafted poems, her poems, and nods, adding a flourish or two in several places, before putting them on her notepad and carrying it towards the door.

"Such a strange dream. Vhy vould I valk through a desert with such strange people?" She mutters to herself. "Though could do poem about it. Characters little flat, will need to change. Dragon not believable, goblin too short. Will consider." She opens her door and steps out into a well-lit corridor full of fine paintings and assorted heirlooms.

A servant jumps up and passes her a cup of dark coffee. Misxibis smiles, taking it in one hand as she reads the poems in her other and strides down the corridor. Two servants follow, carrying assorted sweet pastries and hold them out for her to bite as she meanders along different corridors.

She comes to a stop in a small garden atrium, falls onto a marble bench, and places her items onto the table. The servants put plates of sweets and food around her and back away. Another arrives a few moments later with a clipboard and begins reading her daily schedule.

"A late morning reading in the town square to wet the whistle, my lady," his reedy voice begins. "Lunch at the parlour, with the other scholar Ma'am. Your private beach is still awaiting your instruction for the afternoon, on whether you want to party or relax alone, either way, we are prepared for both. Dinner will be with the lords of Nemir, huge fans of yours, and then your reading at the Nemir opera house is the highlight of the show this evening. Nobles have come from as far as Cinehold to hear it."

Her dream of the desert and its perils fades to nothing as she listens to her timetable and nods, a smile on her lips.

Heri tilts his head at his reflection and it doesn't move. A twinkle in its eyes pulls him in. He falls, landing in sunlight and warmth. He peers around his small burrow, everything alight with fey enchantments, and breathes a sigh of contentment, something not felt in an age. He feels whole, the pain in his heart gone, his soul no longer trapped, weights he didn't realise he bore vanished as if they had never been.

He springs up and out of the door, skidding to a halt, a smile on his lips.

"Hello, everyone!" he shouts and is met with a chorus of greetings and shouts. His brothers and sisters wander the huge field and sit at the massive communal table carved from a single piece of great oak. Lights zip and weave through the air, chased by some of the younger haregons, moving in and out of different burrows across the hillside.

Happiness. True happiness. A feeling not experienced for so long, or has it been that long? The memories of the desert fade as do those in them, as he steps forward and sits at the communal table, picking up some vegetables and laughing at a comment from one of his sisters. More begin to ask questions of Heri, their biggest brother, inquiring of his adventures in the feywild and marveling at his answers. He laughs again, and as it fades, a quiet fills the world.

Cheerful conversations start again filling the air with chatter, no one acknowledging the momentary blip. Heri turns unsettled at the lapse and a scent on the breeze catches in his nose, one out of place and familiar. That of burning flesh and hair.

A chill slides through his stomach and he shakes his head to clear the feeling. A heavy ache sinks into his chest and he takes a deep coughing breath as if plunged into arctic waters.

'It's not real. Get out.'

The voice whispers in his ears and he spins, looking at the concerned expressions of his siblings.

"What's wrong big brother," his closest sister says, reaching her hand out to him. Her touch brings a flash of a memory, a sight of her burning and he jumps back.

"No, no, no," Heri begins to chant the other's stand. "Let it be real!" He shouts. The others turn to each other in fear and the closest step towards him.

"What is it?"

He recoils from their hands, turning and runs.

"What's wrong?"

"Heri, come back?"

"Brother?"

Voices trail him as he flees and with each step, the world flashes. One showing a peaceful glen of warmth, family, and happiness, the other of darkness with broken homes and burning bodies. Each step sends a spike of agony through him, shaking his soul with the revelation of what is, and what could have been.

Heri gasps.

He peers into the pond's reflection, supporting himself on his hands and knees as he sucks in great swathes of warm air in an attempt to steady his racing heart. Visions of his idyllic world play across the surface of the reflective pond, just out of reach, beyond his grasp to seize. Tears splash into the water, creating ripples in the visions.

Heri turns away, pushing himself to his feet, and peers around for Misxibis, but finds himself alone, again.

"Missy!" he calls, checking in the house and throughout the forest, before coming to the door in the bole of the tree. It lies ajar and familiar voices come from without. He sighs in relief, opens it, and steps through. The door closes and another breeze flows through, shaking the trees.

The door closes behind him and he freezes. A voice whispering through the air as his wrist begins to burn.

You feel it, like a gnawing in your chest. A sudden breathlessness, as it swells from deep within. What you had can never be had again. You will never be complete. What you long for is ever out of reach. The depth of your sorrow is bottomless, and your hope begins to dwindle, like a star caught in a black hole, until eventually, nothing will remain.

He peers at the mark forming and scents the burning skin and hair, feeling a hole deepening in his heart. He takes a ragged breath and steps around the corner.

"Heri!" Zips shouts, then pauses looking behind him, "Where's Missy?" Heri arches an eyebrow and turns.

"She isn't here?" the others shake their heads and Zips' eyes widen with concern.

"Where did you last see her?" Zips shouts. Heri descends the steps to join them.

"She was in there, but...," he pauses as he looks up at the huge chamber before them. A trail of ancient stonework with time-worn railings ring the circular room and five stone bridges stretch out over a dark chasm, meeting in the middle on a raised platform over its centre. Upon the platform, just visible hangs a single shard of a glowing necklace.

Charles sucks in a breath of excitement as his eyes land on it, and he begins to move towards the nearest bridge, Zylnan a step behind. Tyrvaan turns to the curved walls that create a huge domed ceiling and grunts.

"By Tyr's grace." Hundreds of completely life-like half-statues; humans, elves, dragons, dwarves, and things he hasn't even heard of appear frozen in stone, moments of terror and fear on their faces as they struggle to free themselves from a wall that became their tomb.

"What is this?" Heri breathes.

"Missy!" Zips screams, pointing at the wall on the far side of the chamber, where her eldest and best friend appears unconscious, her legs encased in stone, that creeps and crawls its way up her body.