I hope this finds you ...

I can't say it'll find you well when I know that you aren't. You're angry, you're frustrated. I understand. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Since you left, I've worried about you every day. Losing control at the mountain, taking off—you're trying to help, but you're driving yourself half to death. What we're dealing with isn't something anyone should face alone. We're family.

Please come home. I know you're hurting, but together, we can find some way to help.

Your brother always,


Rowan reads the missive once. Her brother's neat handwriting stares back at her from the page. I know you're angry. I understand. We can find some way to help.

If he understood, he'd be here. And if he wanted to help, he'd also be here. Instead, she sits on her own in a Wealdrum tavern. The courier, wearing Kenrith livery, lingers in wait of a response.

She tries to think of one. I'm right to be angry. Our world is collapsing around us, and we don't have any clear answers. You want to sit at home and wait for them to show up. I'm tired of waiting. Why does that make you so afraid of me?

The messenger approaches. Rowan still has an empty page before her. She folds it in three, then hands it to her brother's servant. "Give him this, and tell him to come find me if he's serious."

A curt smile. A nod. The messenger leaves.

Rowan returns to her drink, seeing in it her own reflection. The face that had so frightened Will at the mountain.

It doesn't look so frightening to her.

What remains of Ardenvale awaits the knight errant. A veil of mist lays over the hills and valleys, concealing the metal bodies beneath. If she takes a false step she will tumble from her horse into a trench of Phyrexians.

As she nears the castle she sees more and more of the Wicked Slumber's violet swirl. By the time she stands at the shattered gates she must take great care where her feet fall.

Yet Rowan does not take great care.

Art by: Magali Villeneuve