Brynwolfn took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly as the pressure on her back moved from her right shoulder blade to the base of her neck. The dwarven balance sage standing above her continued to work his strong, soft hands across Brynwolfn’s skin, moving her thick, dense muscles in various directions, and doing his best to help her find the sense of balance that had eluded her now for decades. Ever since she had been appointed as a general to lead her people.

The padded table that held Brynwolfn face-down was soft and comfortable. The oils that the balance sage used on his hands were warm and soothing on her skin. A stone basin on the floor held steaming water that carried a fragrant aroma and encouraged great drops of sweat from the pores of her face. She knew she had every reason to be relaxed and enjoy the experience, yet the tension in her body remained. She could not shrug off the feeling of imbalance that weighed her down at the end of each day.

The balance sage removed his hands from Brynwolfn, signaling that he was about to begin the final portion of her alignment. In a moment, she would be instructed to turn her body to face the ceiling so that the balance sage could align her jaw, brow, and the rest of her face. As she waited for the sound of the tapping language of her people, she looked down at the basin of water below her. Brynwolfn found that the steam in the basin had dissipated, giving her clear view of her own reflection.

Brynwolfn didn’t look at her own face often. Vanity was a trait ill-suited for a warrior and commander like her. Still, she was proud of her broad chin, strong brow, and clear eyes that inspired confidence and admiration from the entire Hulfraust nation. But she saw more in her eyes than her peers ever saw. She saw uncertainty, worry, and a secret search for answers that she didn’t even know the questions for.

She continued to wait for the instructions from the balance sage, but she didn’t hear them. Time seemed to stand still as she realized that she didn’t hear anything at all. Not a single tap of conversation echoing across the walls of the entire sanctum, nor sound of footfalls from the dozens of other dwarves walking around. Yet Brynwolfn did not look up to investigate. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from the reflection below her that had somehow become more clear than any polished silver mirror she had seen.

Behind the reflection of her eyes, Brynwolfn saw what looked like two white flames begin to grow in size and intensity. She wondered how any flame could take hold at the bottom of a watery basin, and then she realized that the flames she saw weren’t in the basin at all. They were a reflection, just like the rest of her face had been. Somehow the light of the flames was coming from behind her own eyes, yet she felt no pain. She felt hope. She saw, for just a brief moment, that the answers she was seeking were somewhere in the flickers of those white flames.

The beads of sweat on Brynwolfn’s forehead gathered into a large drop, ran across the bridge of her nose, and then fell into the basin of water below. The ripples that followed disrupted the reflection and seemed to break its hold on Brynwolfn. She could once again hear the sounds of movement and rhythmic conversations all around her, including the tapping of instructions from her balance sage, which seemed to be growing somewhat impatient.

Brynwolfn quickly turned herself over and allowed the sage to massage her face and complete the ritual. But now something was different. As the balance sage moved his fingers across the muscles of Brynwolfn’s face, it was as if she was being sculpted out of soft clay. She responded and adjusted to each touch as easily as when she had been young and had never known the burdens of leadership. When the sage stepped back to allow her to stand, Brynwolfn found that her body felt more balanced than she had felt in years.

Brynwolfn tapped out a brief message of thanks to the sage, then quickly walked out of the Sanctum of Attunement. She forgot about the robe she had brought with her to keep her warm between the sanctum and her private quarters, but she hardly noticed. The cool air on her skin simply invigorated her and she hurried to her destination. Once at her quarters, Brynwolfn locked her door, retrieved the writing tablet from her desk, and sat down on the edge of her bed. She knew it was crucial to write something down before the feeling inside of her faded.

Brynwolfn paused. What could she write that would capture the myriad of feelings and impressions swirling around her mind? What would she need to be reminded of in the days and weeks to come? Then the answer came to her. Brynwolfn tapped the blunt instrument in her hand against the thick paper of the writing pad, recording a simple message in the complex, tactile language of her people.

“Someone is coming,” said the message. “Be ready.”