As I searched through the endless plane of the spell, various visions and realities formed around me. The magic touched my mind and memories, trying to drag me back into fabricated worlds that preyed on my fears. I caught glimpses of the abandoned city in Tormod's breach, the inquisitors' Dusk Chambers, and even the battle against the arbiter in Sylvarus, but I refused to be swept up in their narratives. No matter what they showed me, the real events were over, and there was nothing to be done but to move forward.
As I became more familiar with the spell, I sensed the beginnings of two more auras. Not trapped within the weave, but throughout it. I recognized the Pope from the many times he'd intimidated me, and the other could only be the ninth-level mage. Curiously, a name came to mind, along with memories of our only encounter.
