My Dearest Darial,

I write this letter not from some faraway camp, but from the chair beside you. You read over my shoulder even now, I can feel your eyes teasing every word. But I write still, because sometimes it is easier to ask by quill what my mouth cannot shape.

They cheer in Friar, but my heart is restless. John’s lute sings above the hearth, yet his voice is still missing. Some say he is gone forever. I cannot accept it.

The Phantom Desert lies beyond, quiet and endless. They say its dunes swallow years like minutes, that one can wait there a lifetime in peace. And I think - if John still lives, he will pass through. Or if not, then the desert will let us wait without sorrow.

But, Darial, I will not choose this path alone. I fought with the Bobas, but I live for you. Do you wish to remain here, in Friar where the guild grows and the Hearth blazes? Or shall we walk together into the golden sands and wait for the song that may yet return?

I will follow your answer. Whatever you decide, that will be my peace.

Forever and always,
Kyle