For the first time since his father sent him out to war, Endymion felt put in his place. "I see." He says to Ashe in a flat tone, clearly shunted from his pedestal, a scowl evident on his face.

"Thank you for sharing your experiences." Kashan speaks up, shooting a swift, sharp glare at Endymion for his childish reaction. "We have been kept away from normality for a long time—evidently too long."

Baerdren strides around his office, collecting various stacks of paper and checking various rolled maps to find the correct one.

"Indeed. I must apologise." Endymion sighs. "It is almost four years now since I had to answer to anyone but myself and my own consequences, of which there have been few. It has been a rough time keeping ourselves out of the public view. Although being the embodiment of a social faux pas was Kashan’s job to begin with, so he has seen little to no change." As much as you would expect a grin from Endymion, the air of jocundity has faded.

"I’m also no servant of the Templars. No Paladin." Kashan grunts, a clear distain for the order, but no sign of disagreement with Endymion’s statement. Baerdren also doesn’t stir from either comment, keeping about his business sorting out paperwork. "I am here for the Lady Keeper, not the Church."

"As for your questions, however, I will answer to the best of my ability." Endymion takes a seat, removing the gauntlets of his armour and runs both hands back through his hair. "Yes, we were both in Cyre on the Day of Mourning; I was fighting with the Thranish militants, and Kashan was there fighting for the Brelish forces—an alternative to a prison sentence for a multitude of petty crimes."

Kashan grins at the mention of his ordeal, and steps forward to complete his side of the story, interrupting Endymion's recount of his history. "My tale is shorter than his, so I shall start first."

"It was true. I was a scoundrel. I was sent to war—voluntarily—as a way for Breland to gain disposable troops and not having to deal with new prisoners during the time of conflict. When the fateful day stripped the lives of the scouting party I was travelling with, my world went black. I found myself walking on a plane of complete darkness, surrounded by formless, black creatures with hollowed eyes that snarled and snapped at me; but they feared me. When I came back to myself I was wandering around a newly formed glass precipice in the Mournland, my legs carrying me in a direction I didn’t know. I haven’t aged since."

"As for when my mark manifested? Well..." It’s only now that you realise that Kashan is only wearing clothing akin to a man of monastic training; no visible weapon, fists and feet bound tightly with straps of weathered dragon hide. Kashan loosens the top half of his robes and they slip down his shoulders when he turns his back to you. Across the entirety of his back spread angry scars, drawing your eyes along their brutal patterns, converging into large wolf paw prints that stretch across his shoulder blades; still more of scars than clear marks.

The longer you stare—you simply can’t help yourself—you soon realise that they flicker with a silvery sheen, shimmering in the light. "It happened five years ago. They spread across my entire body, yet..." He pauses for a moment, his voice deepening. "I do not remember how they manifested. I was unconscious at the time, and when I woke I was in the care of Jaela herself. She refused others from tending to the wounds that became my mark. I do not yet know what her intentions were, but she declared that I would be of her care and the concern of no one else. I swore my fealty to her on that day."

Kashan pulls up his robe and rearranges them to look more acceptable, a visible shiver crossing his shoulders as he does so. "The mark seems to grant me some ability the more I learn to accept myself." He says with a disgruntled tone, not altogether pleased with having to part with the information. "The rest is history."

Nodding to Kashan and watching him walk cross the room and take a seat, Endymion gives a slight smile and lets his voice return with more of a friendly quality. "My experience on the Day of Mourning was strange. I remember things, but I feel like there are still more puzzle pieces missing than present. I felt as though something—not something, someone—was trying to tear my very soul from my body and claim it for their own. It’s not clear to me how exactly I managed to survive, but I vividly remember a sensation of floating outside of my body, watching myself cry out in agony and watch the life drain from my eyes, but feeling none of it."

He shrugs. "I came to the conclusion that perhaps my soul was saved from that fate for some higher purpose, but saying that is hardly modest of me. I have no doubt that my soul was displaced from my mortal body at that point in time. What possibly caused that though, I have no clue."

Having finished his preparations, Baerdren takes his seat and smiles to Endymion, playing his collected papers into three identical piles. "He stumbled out of the Mournland two weeks after the Day of Mourning and arrived at Arythawn Keep, where I was visiting family at the time to check on their wellbeing. The Keep had seen many refugees with no homes to return to, remaining relatively peaceful. But Endymion strolled in possessed with an overwhelming aura of anger and violence. He started a brawl with many innocent people who refused to give in to his demands for food, and it was my duty to subdue him. Had I realised who he was at the time, I would have beaten more sense into him than I already had."

Unable to stop himself from blushing, once again Endymion is knocked down a peg. "I would frequently pass out and start mumbling random words that never seemed to make much sense. Baerdren was still there, a close associate of my father—who unfortunately passed not too long ago—and when I regained consciousness and my mind was clear of the hatred I was consumed by, I recognised Baerdren’s name."

"I hounded Baerdren until he brought me here to Flamekeep." The embarrassment of him doing that is evident as his voice trails off before picking back up again. "It was upon my arrival that it became apparent what my seizures truly were. My mumbles turned more coherent and, I later found out, to be the same words as Jaela channelling the voice of the Flame. I felt like my entire body was on fire and I was unconscious for four days afterwards not knowing what happened. This was unlike anything before, as previously I was always completely functional as soon as my blackouts ended, but still with no memory of the ordeal."

Endymion holds out his hands, resting them on the table in front of you. His eyes close and his expression becomes serene, and streaks of metallic silver flow through his hair, down his neck and under his armour. Opening his eyes reveals burning white irises of an intensity that takes your breath away, and he looks down to his fingertips—your own eyes have no choice but to follow. Enveloping his hands are ethereal draconic claws, shimmering with non-existent heat as the magic ebbs from their tips.

"I feel myself channelling the flame itself like this." Sounding eerily distant, his voice continues to be soft but it fills the room without much effort. "I do not have training, or the arcane inclination to be able to do this, yet my mark enables me to. If I wasn’t wearing my armour you would see my entire body glow like a candle, and draconic words of power appear incorporated into patterns that cover my skin." Endymion releases his concentration. The magic dissipates into the air surrounding you all; tiny hairs stand up at the back of your necks, and the power itself feels familiar and strangely comforting. Endymion’s eyes are now back to normal but he seems to be looking through you rather than meeting your gaze.

"Your marks are different, I have seen the portraits." Kashan speaks as Endymion regains his composure, purposely shifting the attention back to you. "I believe they are representative of our existence. Who we are, what we are, or what we are to become. When both of us found out more about ourselves, we gained more power from our marks, much like a regular Dragonmark. Perhaps it is the same for you."