The script on the parchment was elegant but rushed:
"To whoever finds this: My Heart (the Gem) is the primary key, but without the Song of the West Wind, the Door of the Last Breath remains impenetrable. This iron key opens the sub-chamber beneath the Offering Altar in the Heart Room, where the final preparations occur. Althea will carry My Heart during the ritual. If you read this before then, take it. But beware My Heart is tethered to the King's dream. Carrying it will draw his gaze, and perhaps... his Dream Sentinels."
"Mistress Althea's contingency," Jannis muttered. "She underestimated a mortal's greed for power. Take the stone, Greywind. Feel its pulse."
As Greywind grasped the Sandheart Gem, it felt warm, and the red glow within seemed to thrum in perfect synchronization with his own heartbeat. A faint whisper, like wind through dunes, brushed his mind: "...The successor...? The bearer...?"
Simultaneously, the four sand statues around the altar stirred. Their vacant heads turned slowly toward Greywind. The sand forming their bodies began to flow and hiss as they rose from their kneeling positions.
The Battle with the Dream Sentinels
"The Dream Sentinels! Exactly as she warned!" Jannis cried out, energized. "They feel the stone changing hands! Kill them, or flee and hide the energy! Quickly!"
Greywind shoved the gem into his pack, dampening its aura. The statues faltered for a moment, but the trigger had been pulled. He extended his hand and unleashed an Eldritch Blast. The bolt of darkness shattered the nearest figure into a heap of formless sand.
The battle was swift and clinical. Greywind used Misty Step to reposition, weaving between the constructs and dismantling them with bursts of force. Though they managed to strike him sharp, abrasive blows that tore at his skin he reduced all four to dust.
"Visually entertaining, at least," Jannis sighed as the last sentinel fell. "Now you have 'Her Heart.' But remember carrying it invites the King's attention. He may send more, or something... subtler."
She sensed his wounds. "You are hurt. Shall I mend you? I could... lend you a portion of the life I have stored from previous sacrifices. A gift for my entertainment today. With, of course, a little... sensation for me."
"I am wounded enough to accept. What do you offer, Jannis?"
"Healing, born of the lives you've harvested," she answered, a hum of satisfaction in her voice. "Every scream you've offered me... I keep a portion of its essence. A reserve."
A surging, unnatural heat began to crawl from her psychic touch, spreading through Greywind's battered frame. It was not a gentle warmth, but a deep, vibrating heat like bathing in blood fresh from a beating heart.
"I shall transfer it to you. Refresh your flesh, close your wounds. In exchange... I want to feel every second of the process through you. Do not restrain yourself let your groans of pain or sighs of relief out. And... allow me to touch, in my own way, as it unfolds."
Greywind nodded grimly. "If it is only pain, I can endure it."
"Good. Prepare yourself."
The heat suddenly condensed and pierced like needles. It was a flow of dark magma injected directly into his ribs and shoulder. It was agonizing a sharp, burning pain followed by the sensation of tissue knitting, bone fusing, and blood rushing with unnatural speed.
Throughout the process, Greywind could not suppress the ragged groans that escaped him. Jannis moaned in his mind, savoring every wave of agony and relief as if it were her own. Her psychic touch became invasive, like invisible fingers pressing into every mending muscle and nerve. At the apex, a sensation like a sharp, playful bite followed by a warm, wet psychic kiss lingered where his wounds had been.
When it ended, Greywind felt more than healed; he felt vitalized, pumped full of dark energy.
"Finished," Jannis breathed, sounding sated and exhausted. "You are whole again. And I... I feel so very close to you now, Greywind. So... connected."
The silence that followed was heavy. Jannis felt like a second layer of skin beneath his own. "You feel it too, don't you? Like a second pulse, warm and dark. I like it. Your revulsion... it is merely seasoning, darling."
The Awakening of Elara
Greywind approached the great crystal encasing Elara and withdrew the Sandheart Gem. As the stone neared the crystal, it began to throb with a fierce red light, synchronizing with the mist inside.
Elara's eyes flickered, then opened slowly. She looked at Greywind, her mouth forming a silent plea: "Help..."
"The stone is the key," Jannis whispered, her tone now analytical. "But be wary. Releasing her might sever her tie to the King, or it might wake something else. She could be an ally... or a burden. Or perhaps she is already tainted by the sand-dream."
"Can you feel her, Jannis? Is she still Elara, or part of the dream?"
Jannis reached out through their shared connection, using the gem as a conductor. "I feel two layers. The surface is fear, confusion, a desire for freedom that is the human. But beneath... there is a seed of the dream planted in her mind. Not a traitor, but... infected. If you free her, the seed may sleep, or it may sprout. She may see visions, hear the whispers... she could become an involuntary beacon for the King."
"But she has her own will. And her knowledge is peerless. If you free her, do it quickly. Then, watch her. And if the seed begins to grow... you know what must be done."
Greywind took the risk. He pressed the Sandheart Gem into the heart-shaped indentation at the crystal's base. It fit perfectly.
The gem flared with a blinding radiance. The great crystal shattered in a beautiful, terrifying spiral pattern. The mist within was sucked into the gem, and the walls of the prison dissolved into fine dust. Elara collapsed forward; Greywind caught her before she hit the floor.
She was a woman in her late twenties, her blonde hair matted with golden dust, her skin as pale as porcelain. Deep circles underscored her blue-gray eyes, and her lips were cracked. A small, crystal-shaped scar marked her left cheek a souvenir of her imprisonment. She was clad in tattered khaki field gear, her silver Candlekeep badge still pinned to her chest.
She trembled in his arms, gasping for air as she tried to comprehend her surroundings. Her eyes darted from Greywind's face to the glowing gem, and then to the shattered remains of the sentinels.
"I... I am free?" her voice was a hoarse ghost of a sound. "You... you are not one of them. Who...?" She tried to stand, but her legs buckled.
"She is weak, but her mind is quick," Jannis whispered. "Look at her eyes she is already scanning the room, assessing you, searching for weakness and opportunity. A true scholar. Her dream-seed sleeps... for now."