The city of Tyr had erupted into celebration, a rare moment of joy in a land so often drowned in dust and blood. A grand feast was held in honor of the heroes, their names toasted from the merchant halls to the poorest corners of the city. For a month afterward, the companions busied themselves with forging new weapons, crafting items of power, and readying their minds and bodies for the grim paths that lay ahead. Yet amid the triumph, a shadow deepened.

Fazanna’s curse worsened with each passing day. The idol that bound her seemed to gnaw at her soul, filling her nights and waking hours alike with torment. She began to glimpse visions of her own ruin—moments stolen from a cruel future where her body withered, bled, and rotted away. Once each day the curse would seize her in full, forcing her to relive her own violent death. The pain tore at her mind, striking her with psychic anguish that left her reeling, and afterward she would tremble in dread, unable to shake the horror. Even in sleep she found no mercy. The idol poisoned her dreams with flashes of decay and doom, robbing her of rest until exhaustion etched itself into her face.

At last, Fazanna revealed to her companions the truth of her burden: the only way to end the curse was to shatter the idol’s gems, the very heart of its dark power. Safi and Anvar, refusing to let her suffer alone, pooled their knowledge of herbs and alchemy to craft a bitter poultice. Its fumes and burning oils dulled the visions enough to grant her a few hours of rest, though at a steep price. Their victory in Tyr had brought them renown—but now, a darker battle loomed, one that would demand courage not of the sword, but of the spirit.