“Burt…”

You lie half asleep in your sleeping bag, it’s almost dawn and you hear a faint whisper. You ponder for a moment, wondering if you’re dreaming about someone trying to catch Burt’s attention, or if Burt is just muttering his own name in his sleep.

Deep in the Sunshade Mountains…

This cursed shard. There is no doubt this is the artifact my father attempted to carry to Amalhasu. Even after wrapping it in layers of cowhide the mere presence of it brings up memories of that oaf. It’s heavy. I feel it draining my power, my very soul, as I carry it through these forests.

Silence. The bells slowly stop tolling and the cathedral falls into an ominous quiet. You and Burt look at each other with worried eyes as you follow Allard through the large wooden doors to the narthex. Stone rubble and broken glass lie scattered across the floor. The doors to the main hall have long since fallen from their hinges. Though darkness consumes the structure, the full moon glistens through the broken stained glass and dilapidated doorway.

“You sure Sprinkles didn’t cast some spell on me?” groans Burt as the party steps back out into the street, now flooded with the crimson glow of the setting sun. “I sure feel light-headed.”

“I’d love to say you’re just plain lazy, Burt,” says Allard. “But really, you’re exhausted. Coming into this after all that fuss at the Shuffle. We’ve still a long way ahead, so you better take care of yourself.”

My mornings all begin the same, right before the sun peeks over the meadows in the east. While the warblers stir me from my slumber, it’s the western thrasher that motivates me to climb out of bed. That brown bird with its black spots dancing across its breast has some of the most wonderful songs I’ve ever heard. This is when I open the window and spread my arms for the morning stretch, welcoming the lovely day ahead.

“Wait up, Allard!”

You and Burt struggle to keep up with the golden figure striding west through the streets of Windrose City. Everyone had packed with such haste that you worry if anything might be left behind.

“Time is of the essence. Just grab your essentials and spell books, minnows,” Allard had growled just moments ago, strapping on his huge sheathed claymore and checking that the corrupt shard was safely packed. “If we forget anything, Nessie can fly it over.”