In Chapter 175, Dabwick meditated in Katheer on the night before the party’s entrance into the Mysterium:
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Dabwick sits cross-legged at the edge of an open window in a minaret tower, high above Katheer, where the city spills outward in every direction. Golden domes catch the last orange light of dusk. Lanterns begin to bloom in the streets below, one by one. The stone beneath them is still warm, holding the day like a memory.
I have never seen a city like this.
From up here, Katheer feels vast. Too vast to care whether one Halfling Druid lives or dies beneath its towers.
Dabwick closes their eyes and breathes slowly.
In.
Out.
Letting the noise of the city become a single, distant tide.
Cassomir had edges. I could learn its moods. I could walk its streets and feel known. This place will forget me the moment I stand up.
A flicker of white flashes behind their eyelids. Not a dream this time—but close enough to make their heart stutter. A dove, maybe? Wing catching the light?
Dabwick lowers their head, one hand pressed briefly to their chest.
If that is you, Desna… I am not asking for answers. Just tell me I’m not walking blind.
The wind shifts, carrying the scent of spice and dust. Below lies the Mysterium—hidden among other grand structures, its danger disguised as scholarship and silence.
Dabwick opens their eyes and looks toward it.
A library full of traps.
Of guardians that cannot be fought.
Of monsters that do not care about oaths or intentions.
We cannot be brave in there. We must be careful. We must be clever. We must notice what others overlook.
Two men are in there somewhere.
Not monsters. Not gods. Men.
Men who chose—again and again—to open doors that should have remained sealed.
Miacknian Mun, with his hunger dressed up as philanthropy. And Count Lowls, with his title and his certainty that consequences are for other people.
We are not here to win. We are here to stop something worse from happening.
Dabwick imagines narrow corridors, listening floors, and doors that punish haste.
There will be a plan. And when the plan fails, there will be improvisation. That has always been our strength.
For a second, they think again of Cassomir. Of familiar streets. Of the feeling of leaving something unfinished behind.
What if this is where I end? What if my story closes in the basement of a library in old Katheer—no sky above me, no soil beneath my hands?
They sit with the thought. They do not push it away.
The city lights glow brighter as night settles in.
If that is how it ends, then let it end with intention. Let me die having paid attention. Let me die knowing I chose this road.
Dabwick rises slowly, the warmth beneath them faded. They look out over Katheer one last time, then turn toward the stairway down.
Small. Alert. Carrying more weight than anyone below will ever guess.
And ready.
First Reference: Chapter 175
Other Notable References: —