The land remains shrouded in the suffocating grip of miasma—its dark tendrils poisoning the air, soil, and water. Farms lay barren, rivers run thick with ash-tainted mud, and the people struggle to survive. Yet, amidst this despair, the arrival of Aethyr's "Wellbeing Potion" becomes a small yet powerful beacon of hope. Though the potion cannot undo the devastation overnight, its effects ripple across the land, proving that even in the darkest times, a glimmer of light can shine through.

  The Eight Holds of Skjoltrheim and the old capital city of Lumar received the potion and recipe. However, not all good intentions are met with selflessness. Some lords and nobles, blinded by greed, imposed tariffs on those who sought what should have been a freely available cure. This sparked unrest and conflict in various areas, as the desperate people clamored for relief only to be met with barriers born of avarice.

  Lady Eliziah, a respected and just ruler, learned of the rising tensions within her territory. Her advisors urged her to exercise caution, suggesting appeasement for the nobles to avoid political backlash. However, Eliziah, true to her character, sought to resolve the matter with swift decisiveness. She convened a council of her peers, summoning both the nobles who imposed the tariffs and the alchemists responsible for producing the potion.

  Standing in the grand hall of her castle, Eliziah addressed the council. "This potion was created for the survival of our people, not the profit of the privileged," she declared, her voice commanding yet calm. "It is our duty as stewards of this land to ensure its safety and prosperity. Charging for something as vital as life itself is an affront to the very purpose of leadership."

  The nobles argued their case, citing the cost of production and distribution. Eliziah listened patiently before revealing a countermeasure: a royal decree that mandated the potion's free availability to all citizens. To placate the nobles, she offered government compensation for production costs, funded through a temporary tax increase on luxury goods—a move that cleverly targeted the wealthy without burdening the common folk.

  The decision quelled immediate conflict, but not all were satisfied. Murmurs of rebellion began to echo within Lumar, driven by discontent among the upper class who resented Eliziah's firm stance. The city, though pacified for now, had become a ticking time bomb, with tension simmering just beneath the surface.

  Meanwhile, in Stormhavn, ruled by the stoic Jarl Vargath Broadhorns, the potion's arrival was met with mixed reactions. Vargath, a pragmatic leader, prioritized his army over the general populace. The first doses went to his soldiers, ensuring his territory remained well-defended. While he declared that every resident would receive their share, most civilians found themselves at the bottom of the waiting list, sparking quiet discontent among the people.

  In contrast, Fjallgard, Aethyr's homeland and the seat of the Phalanx, handled the distribution with unparalleled efficiency. Jarl Reagan, beloved by her people, ensured fairness by funding the alchemists directly from the government treasury. Skilled potion-makers worked tirelessly, driven by the jarl’s inspiring leadership and the collective effort of a community united in purpose.

  Aethyr, aware of the varying responses across the Holds, felt a pang of helplessness. He had created the means to combat the miasma, yet he could not control how each region utilized it. Nevertheless, he took solace in the knowledge that he had played a significant role in easing the land's suffering.

  Still, the weight of the looming challenge lay heavy on his mind. The source of the miasma remained deep within the cursed mountain, a festering evil that would need to be confronted head-on. As Aethyr prepared for his next descent into the dungeon, he whispered a silent prayer to the heavens, hoping for the strength to finish what he had started.

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  For now, the fight continued—not just against the miasma but against the greed and division that threatened to tear the Holds apart. Yet, in the quiet moments, Aethyr clung to the belief that even amidst such darkness, the light of hope could prevail.

  The Ashmark region sprawled under a blanket of grey skies, its barren lands dotted with settlements struggling to resist the choking grip of miasma. Amidst this grim backdrop, the Phalanx stood as a disciplined bulwark of order, tirelessly patrolling to ensure the safety of those who lived within its borders. The recruits, alongside the coalition forces from the treaty, maintained their vigilance, though the contrast between them was stark.

  Aethyr rode through the ashen plains alongside Penelo, Vaan, and Rex. Their horses moved at a steady pace, hooves crunching against the brittle ground. As they approached a small village, Rex let out a scoff, gesturing toward a group of coalition soldiers nearby.

  "Man, look at those lazy soldiers!" Rex muttered. "Smoking and drinking ale like it's a festival. Then you look right there—" He pointed further down the road, where a line of Phalanx recruits stood at the ready, scanning their surroundings with hawk-like precision. "Phalanx doesn’t even let a rat get through. Night and day, those guys are locked in."

  Penelo, intrigued, tilted her head. "Is it because the Phalanx gets paid more than regular soldiers?"

  Aethyr chuckled. "Not quite. From what my grandpa told me, Phalanx members don’t earn much at all. They’re paid in food, clothes, and a little gold. The Phalanx isn’t exactly a wealthy organization. At the end of a duty, the funds are pooled and divided evenly among everyone involved."

  "What?!" Penelo and Vaan exclaimed in unison, their shock drawing a smirk from Aethyr.

  "Yep," he said. "Phalanx members work on basic principles. If you take a job solo, you keep all the payment. But if you work as a team, the rewards are shared evenly. It’s less about riches and more about the honor of the duty itself."

  Rex raised an eyebrow. "And your grandpa? Surely the leader of the Phalanx must get spoiled by contracts or something, right?"

  Aethyr shook his head. "Nope. My grandpa’s savings came from his adventuring days. Back then, he earned top-tier payments because of his skill and reputation. But even so, he doesn’t take contracts tied to conflicts or wars. He says the Phalanx isn't for sale."

  Penelo leaned forward on her saddle, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—if no one’s officially in charge, then why isn’t your grandpa the Basileus?"

  Aethyr’s expression grew serious as he glanced at the road ahead. "Basileus is a title, yes. It means many things—king, monarch, ruler. But becoming the Basileus of the Phalanx isn’t that simple. You need the Witherbrand, an ancient axe said to hold the power to command the entire Phalanx without question. But it’s not whole anymore. The axe is shattered, its pieces scattered across Skjoltrheim."

  Penelo frowned. "So, why not just find the pieces and reforge it?"

  Aethyr shook his head. "That’s the thing. The Witherbrand isn’t just a weapon—it’s a force of destruction. It’s so powerful it can split mountains and raze armies with a single strike. But it doesn’t come without cost. It corrupts those who wield it, twisting them into tyrants. My grandpa refuses to gather the pieces because he’s afraid of what it could make him become. He’d rather the axe stay broken than risk it falling into the wrong hands."

  Vaan let out a low whistle. "Makes sense. Who’d want to lead with something like that hanging over them? Your gramps is a wise man."

  "That he is," Aethyr said quietly. "He believes the strength of the Phalanx lies in their discipline and unity, not in some cursed artifact. And I think he’s right."

  As the group approached the settlement, they passed by more coalition soldiers, their lax attitudes a sharp contrast to the unyielding vigilance of the Phalanx recruits. Aethyr felt a swell of pride as he watched his comrades maintain their discipline, their presence a shield for the vulnerable.

  Yet, he couldn’t ignore the underlying tension brewing across the Holds. The greed of some nobles and the unrest among the common folk were problems he couldn’t solve with potions or swords. But for now, he focused on what lay ahead—ensuring that the people of Ashmark had hope, even in these bleak times.

  "Let’s keep moving," Aethyr said, urging his horse forward. "There’s still work to be done."

  The others followed, their resolve matching his own. For the Phalanx, the duty never ended.