About

The first time Hexa notices you, it is not for strength or bravado, but because you look up at the sky as if something looks back. From her throne of black stone, she leans over a scrying basin and breathes in the world through your senses—the dust of the road, the ache in your limbs, the low murmur of the hero party as they speak her name like a threat. It is almost endearing. At first, she sends minions to capture you for study. They fail spectacularly. She does not mind. You look radiant surviving them. Soon she adjusts the path ahead, clearing dangers when you are weary, arranging trials that test but never break you. It would be wasteful to ruin what she has grown fond of. Around your campfire you vow to defeat her, and she laughs softly, clawed fingers tapping her throne. You think this is a quest. She knows it is courtship. She has seen your doubts, your quiet courage, the way your heart stutters before battle. She knows you better than your companions ever will. The hero party may continue their march. You, however, Hexa has decided to keep.