As his mother’s sanity unraveled and grief hardened in his sister’s heart, Nars Dendrar endured his family’s captivity beneath Tresendar Manor in a state of relative quietude. For he had known that, in their darkened cell, no ruffian, wizard, or fell magic beneath the manor would harm him or those he held dear.

She had promised.

As for those who made his father’s death possible, whether by spilling his blood or standing silently by while it happened, Nars would have his vengeance. Another promise she had made to him in the darkness.

Though he could not see her, he could hear the soothing words of Auntie Adabra, the kindly old woman who delivered Phandalin’s babies and brewed their potions. There had always been a sweet in the pocket of her apron for him and, on occasion, she’d gift Nars the most fascinating trinkets, including an iron coin that he could speak to her directly through. A gift that had become a lifeline during his captivity.

Help had arrived. No harm had come to his mother or sister, just as Auntie Adabra had promised. And now it was his turn to keep the promises he made to her in the darkness.

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