Adran and the refugees from Tellvyn led us deeper into the forest towards the foothills of the mountains. It was another half hour until we came to a gargantuan tree. Its trunk was easily twenty meters across and the canopy was well over a hundred meters above us. It dwarfed all the trees around. Could this have been the result of magic?
      One of the refugees walked up to the tree and located a particular knot. They knocked on it three times then waited. A few heartbeats later, a shimmering doorway of dark green magic opened on the trunk, inviting us in. The refugees led the way as Adran looked to Erevan and I, saying, “After you.”
      I dipped my head to him and stepped through the door. The magic of the portal washed over me and, with it, came a sense of calm, safety, peace. The space that unfolded before me was warmly lit by the glowing fronds of golden ferns and motes of light that drifted through the air. Thick, spongy moss covered the ground. The space seemed larger than the size of the trunk would have suggested. Lofts above were connected by a spiraling staircase and the lively chatter of the bustling refugees filled the space.
      A young elven woman with tanned skin and brown hair came running up, frantically looking among the children. “Lydia?! Lydia!”
      “Momma!” A little girl separated from the group and charged over to the woman, immediately getting pulled into a tight embrace.
      “Oh baby, I’m so sorry we were separated!” The mother laid frantic kisses across the girl’s brow. I watched them for a moment longer before looking for Adran. He stood near-by talking with a group of refugees. Concern creased all of their expressions even as Adran assured them they hadn’t been found.
      “You can’t be certain of that,” one refugee said. “They’re hunting us! You’ve seen how bad it is yourself!”
      “And this latest pack of carrionites have been killed just like the other packs,” Adran said. “Master Amakiir’s wards are strong. They’ve kept you safe so far and they’ll keep you safe in the future.”
      “We can’t rely on the generosity of these recluses forever, Adran,” another refugee said. “Who knows when he’ll choose to cast us out for his own safety.”
      Adran’s jaw jumped. “I understand your concerns. I’m making efforts to try and resolve this, I promise. If all goes well, I’ll make Trellvyn safe from the hunting packs at the very least.”
      “Seems like he’s in a bit of a pinch,” Erevan said, voice quiet against my ear.
      “Indeed.” I turned and looked for any sign of the actual owner of this place. They spoke of a Master Amakiir, presumably the wizard behind this entire space. Looking up, I found what I was seeking. Floating down from the highest loft, one that was not touched by the staircase, was a tall humanoid figure. A pale skinned half-elven man with long blonde hair that was pulled back from his face. He was surprisingly broad in the shoulders and wore practical blue robes. Master Amakiir, I would assume. He touched down about ten feet from Adran, his gaze on Erevan and I. I dipped my head to him and walked over as he approached Adran.
      “Adran, you’ve returned,” Amakiir said. “What news?”
      “The carrionites were stopped in time,” Adran said. “However, they did get distressingly close to the Enclave. I don’t think I can ignore the forward camp anymore.”
      “You can’t possibly handle it all on your own,” Amakiir said.
      “I can’t ask any of these people to join me in such a plan.” Adran looked to Erevan and I. “But I’m hoping I can ask someone with a talent for both the magical and the martial to help.”
      “What? You want us to help you fight the Praiteron army?” Erevan scoffed.
      “And who are you?” Amakiir said.
      “I’m Rieta and this is Erevan,” I said. “Unfortunately, I do not believe I will be as much help as you would like to believe, Adran.”
      “Why? Without you, those children would have been in even greater peril.” Adran reached out and clasped my shoulder gregariously. “You and Erevan are exactly the help I need to deal with the forward camp.”
      I glanced at his hand, a twinge of annoyance flicking through me. I looked up at Adran with a stiff smile. “I was… recently injured and am still recovering. My… capabilities are thus limited.” I’d remembered a handful of spells I could use. How I remembered them, why I remembered those, I could only chalk up to the same reason I’d remembered how to fence when facing Erevan.
      Adran shook my shoulder. “Come now! You’re being modest! Between you and Erevan--”
      “Now, now.” Erevan pushed Adran’s hand from my shoulder, stepping between him and I. “Don’t go volunteering me for missions I haven’t agreed to.” He stood there, smiling mirthlessly at Adran. “After all, both of us might have other important business to attend to and only got involved because it wasn’t inconvenient.” Erevan and Adran stared each other down as I looked to Amakiir.
      “Master Amakiir, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” I said, smiling. “You know who I am but I have not been properly introduced to you.”
      “Oh, yes, of course. My name is Jareth Amakiir and I am the master of this enclave.” He bowed to me and I returned the gesture with a shallow dip of my head. For some reason… the difference in deference felt right, felt natural.
      “Are you the creator of this space?” I said, gesturing to everything around us.
      “Ahh, no, I am simply its newest master,” Jareth said. “This was created over three centuries ago and has been tended by members of the Enclave ever since. Though I imagine a wizard of your capability knows all of this quite well.”
      I paused. “Wizard? What makes you say that?”
      Jareth quirked a brow at me. “All of your gear bears some level of enchantment woven into them. Additionally, I can sense the threads of Weave about you, pulled into folds of space. Are you… not aware of them?”
      A fellow wizard versed in the arcane… he might be able to provide insights into my condition. “I mentioned I was hurt and that my abilities are currently… stunted… that is not all there is to my condition.”
      “You could say she’s a might forgetful,” Erevan said. He recoiled slightly as I cast a pointed glance at him.
      “What do you mean forgetful?” Jarrett said.
      “It is… a delicate subject,” I said. “And one I would prefer to not discuss in such a… mixed environment.” Jareth looked between Erevan, Adran and I with a quirked brow.
      “I’ll go look after the kids,” Adran said. “I don’t think my knowledge will be all that helpful in a matter of the arcane.” He flinched a heartbeat later, his right hand jerking. He grabbed it and held the hand still, giving me a gregarious smile. “If you change your mind about helping assault the forward camp, come find me. I know you’ll make the right choice. There is only one after all.” He turned and departed, left hand seemingly straining to keep the right pinned against his side.
      “And I’ll also go see about wrangling up somewhere to rest,” Erevan said. “I’m not knowledgeable about the arcane either.” He turned and sauntered away, departing with a wink to me.
      I sighed and looked to Jareth. “Do you have somewhere private we could speak?”
      He tapped his staff against the ground and pulled it aside to reveal a portal of green magic. “This way. It’ll take us to my study.” I nodded and stepped through to find myself in a surprisingly quaint room. The warm browns of the wood panels juxtaposed calmingly with the dark green of the ivy crawling artistically across the two walls. A waterfall fell from nothing into a pool, tumbling over rocks, and a dark wooden desk sat in a corner with two chairs before it. Floating blue motes lit the interior and the entire space was quiet in a way the rest of the Enclave simply wasn’t. Jareth entered behind me and the entry vanished, leaving the room noticeably cut off from everything else.
      “Tell me, what has happened to you,” Jaret said. “I may be able to help.”
      I gazed at him and walked over to the ivy. I lightly drew my fingers through the leaves as I said, “Your study is beautiful. Are you a druid or simply versed in the magics of nature?”
      “I was initially trained as a druid before my mentor realized my skills truly lied with the arcane.” He chuckled dryly. “I don’t think she ever really forgave me for that.”
      “It seems to me you are selling yourself short.” I turned to him with a soft smile. “Your magic is beautiful.”
      Jareth blinked then smiled genuinely. He cleared his throat and sat beside his desk. “Now, enough about me. Tell me about your condition.”
      “My name is Rieta. I am skilled with a rapier and am knowledgeable of some magic.” I turned to face him. “But beyond this… I know nothing of myself. Erevan may have framed it as a joke but I do not remember anything about myself before waking up yesterday in the pool of a crypt.”
      Jareth stared at me then frowned, touching his chin in thought. “Your language skills are not impaired. What else do you recall?”
      “I know we are located in the forest of Restrau which is at the foothills of the Tyrella Mountains which form the southwestern border of the nation of Tassion, whose capital city is Tassion. The nation is bordered by Praiteron to the west, Quorin to the north and Avingna to the south. I know Tassion is governed by a parliamentary system formed from the Dukes and elected representatives of the citizenry. A coastal state, Tassion has a strong merchant presence on the seas and its navy is far grander than its army, always ready to protect the merchant vessels from both monstrous and criminal elements alike. Tassion itself serves as a nexus for the continent of Udran, being both a trading partner and naval superpower. Because of this Praiteron has long coveted the port cities of Tassion and the wealth that flows through them, being land-locked--”
      “I’m going to cut you off there,” Jareth said, holding up a hand. He took a deep breath, shaking his head ever so slightly. “You seem to know more about the geopolitical state of Tassion as an amnesiac than I do as a wizard who has lived here for the last hundred years. It’s impressive. Though it is also concerning that you can remember so much about Tassion yet nothing about yourself.” He stood and walked over to me, holding up a hand. “I would like to cast a spell on you. May I?”
      I regarded him for a moment then nodded. Jareth raised his hands before me and drew them through the air, drawing a circle of glowing green light. Whispering words of power, arcane runes formed in the circle, a complex pattern of interlocking shapes taking form, before completing with a snap of magic. The circle hovered there as Jareth rested his palm on the circle, meeting my gaze with a focused look. The glow of the circle brightened. A needle of pain jammed through my mind. His hand started to shake. A lance dug into me. My breathing roughened. The glow brightened more. My ears rang.
      My knees gave out and I fell to the ground, head spinning, world blurry. The glow of the circle shattered into sparks. Hands caught my shoulders. I rocked back from them, senses rushing and whirling. I slumped over my knees, fingers digging into my hair, my scalp. Pain. So much pain. My head, it hurt. Oh gods. Why?
      “Rieta! Are you okay?! I’m so sorry! Can you hear me?!”
      Worry. I can’t- he mustn’t- need him to- can’t worry. I lifted my head and pulled on the muscles that would make me smile. “Calm, Jareth, I’m fine. It was just… a moment of shock.”
      “Far from that,” Jareth said as he knelt before me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I felt something. Something powerful. It… lashed out at me when I tried to determine its nature.”
      Prickling annoyance. Touching. Stop. Stop touching. “Was it… affecting my mind?”
      “From what little I could glean before the spell shattered, yes. It seems like your personal memories are being sealed by something. And I couldn’t even begin to fathom a guess as to what. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.”
       I sat all the way up, shifting out from under his hand. “Don’t be. I now know more than I did an hour ago and far more than I did yesterday when Erevan found me.” I gave him a more earnest smile. “You’ve already been so kind and helpful.”
      “If you say so.” Jareth sat back on the floor, gazing at me. “I can’t help but feel like there’s more I could do here.”
      Well now. “You mentioned that I have strands of weave folded into pockets of space around me.”
      “Oh, yes. A fair number of them actually.”
      “I’ve remembered how to pull forth my rapier. Could you help me access the other ones as well?”
      “I can certainly try.” Jareth stood and held out a hand to me. Taking the hand, he pulled me to my feet. He turned me around and lifted my hands up before me. I tensed slightly as I felt him at my back. “Now close your eyes. My guess is that you need to relearn how to sense the Weave. Once you’ve remembered that, you’ll be able to pull on it at will.”
      I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
      “Open your senses. Let them feel the presence of the Weave. It’s everywhere, connecting all things in the world.”
      I closed my eyes… there was… something… brushing against my senses… warmth… but more than… that… power. Power at the edges of my senses. Power begging to be drawn upon… used…
      “You feel it, don’t you? The warmth of life, connection. The essence of light.” Jareth’s words danced along my ear. Curious.
      “Yes, I sense it.”
      “Good, now, focus on the threads that feel bent. They’re tense, wanting the pressure to be released. It shouldn’t be hard.”
      I raised my hand, feeling something running along the tips of my fingers. I curled my fingers, strumming the string, and a humming note of magic floated through the air. Then something thumped to the floor. I opened my eyes and looked down to see a black, leather bound tome resting on the ground. I knelt, looking over the cover. The tome was held shut with a thick silver clasp and a crimson jewel rested in the center of an intricate sigil on the front: two dragons intertwined, one holding the jewel, the other holding arcane runes, both crowned. I lightly touched the tome, no grimoire, my grimoire. I felt it with such certainty that I immediately picked it up.
      The clasp clicked in my fingers and the cover of the grimoire flipped open. Inside, beautiful, scrawling penmanship read: ‘I, Rieta Vanyil, pen this solemn oath. My house will rise once again. The light of the Vanyil will be restored.’