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Her theatre may have begun with laughter, but it ended with shadow and flame.  The Heroes of Travance, along with a very unexpected ally: Commander Telrun of Gaaldron, took the field together and brought Elara to an end. Even after she became lost to the Void she stood no chance against their combined might.  

Falling to Heroes the Void crushed her form and sent her soul to Oblivion.  

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A gleaming caravan rolled to a halt as it reached the Rift.  Six lacquered wagons, each painted with swirling sigils and scenes of myth, glinted in the morning light. Dancers, stagehands, and performers all rested in their bunks as best they could given the events of the week. 

A checkpoint guard approached looking for someone to talk to.  After a moment a Bard, now free of a cursed book, stumbled out of the lead wagon.  “Apologies, I’m sorry.  Elara did not keep things organized so it took me a bit to find the proper paperwork. Forgive the crossed out words.  We here at the Second Dawn Traveling Theatre Company are new to all this. ”  Eiren holds the papers out for inspection

The guard thumbed through them, eyes flicking between the pages.

“Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Thorne is it? ” he said finally, handing the papers back.

“Yes, that's me.  And don’t worry I will get new paperwork once we get settled at our next stop.  Now that I’ve apparently taken over since Elara's sudden departure.” he says. “Ms. Elowen and I are running things now”

His eyes lingered on the man for a moment.  “Carry on.” The guard turned towards the others “Let them through!” He shouts before turning back to Eiren.  “Safe crossing.  Things have been a bit more active lately, but don’t worry too much.” 

With a flick of the reins, the wagons began to roll once more. Bells chimed from one of the rear carriages as the company moved once more.

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Marla stood on the edge of the Proper, her eyes fixed on the departing Caravan as it rolled slowly into the distance. The vibrant colors of the wagons faded into the horizon, and with them, the last traces of the only life she had ever known: the stage. Her breath came in heavy, measured bursts, not from exertion but from the weight of uncertainty pressing against her chest. For years, the stage had been her world its lights, its applause, its chaos. But something inside her had shifted. The stage, once her sanctuary, now felt like a costume that no longer fit. As the final wagon disappeared beyond the ridge, she whispered to the wind, “Where to next?” There was no answer, only silence and possibility stretching out before her like a road not yet walked.

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Meanwhile, in Londwyn, the name Viren Malus once again graced the grand halls and playbills of high society. A prodigy from childhood, Viren had earned renown as a violinist.  After years away from the public eye, they returned with a quiet fire in their spirit and a violin case under their arm. Their first solo concert sold out within hours, and the audience sat in stunned silence as her music filled the air, aching with beauty and depth. Soon they were performing with orchestras, their presence on stage as commanding as ever, yet refined by experience and solitude. Londwyn, it seemed, had been waiting for their return. And Viren had never sounded more certain of where they belonged.

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Leaving the mists of the Rift behind them, a carriage rolled westward into the larger Kingdom of Kormyre headed for Gaaldron.  A feint smile across the Commander’s face as the light of the day began to fade.  

“All in all the job is done and Elara is no more.” He folds his arms and looks to Syrrik.  

“Indeed it is Commander.  What will you do now that we were able to work with Travance and Kormyre?” They ask casually.

“I don’t know, but maybe it's the start of having one less war to fight.  I don’t think we’ll ever be allies, but one less battle to fight would be acceptable.  There are some noble and honorable people in Travance.  Maybe we will cross paths again.” He looks out the window and across the rolling fields.

Syrrik quietly pulls a piece of parchment from their pocket and reads it while the Commander’s attention is elsewhere.  “Bellmare Hill - no survivors” Quietly they say to themselves “Huh, thats unfortunate for Commander Reicks” 

“What’s that?” Telrun turns back to Syrrik.

“Oh, nothing.” They say shoving the parchment back into their pocket.