Amidst the midday hustle of a bustling rural marketplace, a burgeoning warlord looked with pride over the fruits her labors had wrought.

Mara had blessed those willing with access to the wellspring whence her power flowed. In the years since, they had come to draw deeply from that source.

She watched a vibrant lad sing Life to the bouquets he had on offer. He willed the color and shape of their blooms to change time and again to the delight of his enthralled shoppers.

She witnessed a show of physical comedy put on by a pair of daring maidens. The numerous swords and knives the act involved meant that only precision timing prevented their pratfalls from turning deadly. None of the visitors could see the bond of Mind that kept the two in sync.

She next stopped to see a contest of Might between a burly man and a well-muscled woman. They took turns lifting progressively heavier objects while visiting travelers looked on in awe. Mara could only guess which of them would win; at only three bales of hay apiece, neither had yet begun to show signs of strain.

There were Wonders as far as the eye could see, each worked by a different set of hands. With such power in play, it was no wonder to any who visited how a Hovalean horde had built Ikoria into a proper dominion in so short a time. They only misunderstood the true benefactor behind the magic.

Wearied as she was from warring and Wonderworking, Mara was only too happy to let Torbin take the credit and hold the seat of power as Ikoria’s cunning Lord. Curiously off-balance, she hobbled into the wholly refurbished dining hall where the balding man held court with a foreign emissary. Ars greeted her at the door.

The intervening years had finally seen him take the form of a proper man, thanks in no small part to Mara’s blessing. A thin blond beard had sprouted from his chin, and an admirable build of lean muscle was visible beneath the light leather armor he wore.

He chuckled at the contrast between himself and the Ikoras, who still wore the same rags as always. “You’ll not even dress up f’r matters o’ state?” he queried.

“No matters of mine,” Mara answered.

“Even so, t’would be a fine gesture, would’nit?”

She coughed, then cleared her throat. “My flesh is enough to protect me from the elements, and my power is enough to express my greatness. I will dress for comfort and nothing else.”

Her stern assertion diminished Ars’ casual mirth. “Err, ‘course,” he said. “They’re just over there. S’not goin’ great.”

She didn’t need him to tell her that any more than she needed the commentary on her clothing; the foreign emissary’s reddened face made it clear that talks had gone poorly.

“This is an insult!” shouted the emissary. “You ask us to live as paupers!”

“You see any paupers ‘round here, mate?” Torbin responded. “I think not. Ikoria takes care of the people it rules, but the people gotta be ruled. Who’s doin’ the rulin’ if you’ve got your own Lord?”

“You ask too much! House Carthinabbe has held those lands for twelve generations!”

“And they’ll lose it all in just the one if we don’t bring an end to this nasty business!”

Struck speechless, the emissary only winced. Torbin seized his advantage and sprung up from his gem-encrusted throne to accost his honored guest.

“Let’s not mince words, good sir. You’re here ‘cause Carthinople’s on her last legs. We’ve beaten you back to the brink, and now you’re comin’ here in hopes of talkin’ your way outta certain doom. Smart move, really. What’s not so smart is speakin’ at me like we’re on even ground.”

Suddenly afflicted by the weight of an invisible boulder on his shoulders, the emissary was forced to the ground. Torbin leaned back and crossed his arms, his stern gaze reflecting the weight of his will.

“As we stand,” said Torbin, “crushin’ you lot wouldn’t be a whole lot harder than this. But we feel like standin’ with ya more than we feel like standin’ atop ya. You wanna change our thinkin’ on that, you go right ahead.”

He reduced the pressure enough for the emissary to push himself up on all fours. “I…” he struggled to say. “I…w-will convey your…directives.”

The pressure lifted all at once, and the emissary was left gasping for air. “That’s more like it,” said Torbin with a grin. “I think we’re all done here, then. I’ll trust ya to show yourself out.”

He gave the emissary a pat on the noggin before turning to approach the Ikoras, his self-satisfied smirk contrasting her stony stare. “That’ll be another territory beneath our thumb,” he said once he reached her. “Am I good at this or what?”

“You perform admirably,” Mara said flatly.

“Hmph. Comin’ from you, I’ll take it. What say we get to the manor, eh? The rest o’ the originals should be assemblin’ soon.”

“You gather them too often. They could be doing more important things.”

“Oi! My weekly proclamations are immensely important, thank you very much! What other Lord’s magnanimous enough to let his subjects in on all the plannin’?”

Though Mara fell silent only because her breath caught in her throat, Torbin took it as a victory. “That’s what I thought,” he said smugly. “Now, come on.” He turned from her to head for the exit, and after a brief moment spent eyeing Mara nervously, Ars followed suit. Mara was not long behind them, stopping for but a moment at the threshold to lean against the door frame and take a deep breath.

Outside, she followed behind Torbin, Ars, and a small number of the others invited to attend the meeting where the Lord would share updates on conquests and initiatives. Hethys was of the opinion that these were matters Mara would do well to learn, and it was a difficult point to argue. Even so, the Ikoras had little patience for such details. She had little patience for any matter she couldn't address with her own two hands.

Hethys seemed to sense her thoughts when she met her young friend at the door. Her familiar serpentine smirk only intensified Mara's exasperation.

"Mara appears most displeased," chanted the hag. "Won't she deign to speak with these fine souls who serve her wily will? Does the girl mistrust them still?”

A harsh scoff was the most Mara managed. Hethys chuckled and placed a hand--and much of her weight--on the young woman’s shoulder. “Help an old lady in, won’t you?” she said. After a heavy sigh, Mara acquiesced.

“We’re gettin’ more hangers-on by the day now,” Torbin spoke.

“Aye,” Ars agreed. “S’hard to b’lieve consid’rin’ where we came from.”

“Too right, lad. Too right.” Torbin turned to look at Mara. “Might be prudent to share that blood o’ yours around a bit more, eh? I’ve no doubt s’more Mark-bearers in our ranks could further boost our profile in these lands.”

Mara winced at the notion. “Should any wish to seek the honor,” she slowly spoke, “I would have them…stand before me. Ask directly.”

Hethys’ smirk split into a grin, and Torbin quirked a brow. “Err, all right,” he said. “I’ll put the word out.”

“Are you well, Mara?” asked Ars.

“Of course I am,” Mara stated.

The former Hovaleans gathered together in a grand foyer within the manor house. There, Torbin regaled them with the tale of the foreign emissary he’d humbled that very afternoon. They raised a round of cheers to celebrate the impending addition of a new lordship to their dominion, and their Lord basked in their adulation.

“Credit where credit’s due,” he added only after he’d had his fill of praise. “This holy power has proved a boon beyond any we once-humble folk could ever’ve hoped for. If not for Lady Mara, I’d probably still be pushin’ beans.”

A few beads of sweat formed on Mara’s forehead as the attention of the gathered slowly shifted to her. Ars watched with worry as she swallowed a lump in her throat, and when she stepped forward to stand beside Torbin, he grabbed her arm to hold her back.

“M’lady,” he whispered. “You needn’t-”

Before he could finish the thought, she tore away from him as subtly as she could. Fists clenched, she stepped purposefully to the center of the chamber, then took a moment to look around to see the many eyes upon her.

One breath in. One breath out. She cleared her throat, then spoke.

“My power is great,” she said, “but you need not stop to honor me. Your fealty is enough. The ends I have in mind are beyond the lot of you. The great destiny you-”

She was interrupted by a brief coughing fit. She cleared her throat and began again. “The great destiny you forge for Ikoria is the fruit of your own labors. So long as you never fail to stand for me when I call on you, you may ever draw deeply from the wellspring…”

As she trailed off, the gathered Ikorians exchanged bewildered glances. “Wellspring…” she said again, but in the next moment, her violet eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the ground to the shock of all present. All but Hethys, who swayed and chuckled while the others rushed forward to check her condition.

None were more concerned than Ars, who pushed through them all to be the first to reach her and kneel at her side. “M’lady?” he spoke as he lifted her up to cradle her limp head. “M’lady!”

“The hell’s this?” Torbin queried, his harshness belying the worry in his eyes.

“I d’know! Somethin’s been off all day. I could tell.”

Mouth ajar and eyelids twitching, the Ikoras proved unresponsive to any attention given her.

“I thought she couldn’t be harmed,” spoke one of the gathered Ikorians.

“Is it another Heir?” asked another. “Are we under attack?”

Concern for Mara was quick to turn to panic, but the only one present who was enduring neither was the first to act. Clapping her hands together, Hethys slid forward at a rhythmic pace, subtly reaching out to every mind but Ars’.

“Conquest this and conquest that. Endless spies and diplomats. Always busy, never rest. All our nerves this path must test!”

Though the words on her tongue meant little, the Wonder she worked put the Ikorians more at ease. She kept up her singing and her swaying to further compel them to go.

“Time to celebrate it is! Raise a glass! Share a kiss! Time to eat and drink all night. Time to toast our growing might!”

“The ol’ lady ain’t wrong,” spoke Torbin in a sing-song tone of his own. “Hit the storehouses lads. ‘Bout time we gave ourselves a night off!”

Their worries successfully diverted to make room for revelry, the Ikorians laughed and shouted and cheered, filing out of the foyer with Torbin in the lead. Ars alone expressed bewilderment at their sudden willingness to abandon their benefactor. Once she reached him, Hethys put a hand on his shoulder to soothe him.

“The girl just needs to rest,” she lied. “Take her to the master bedchamber. I’ll be along directly.”

“But she’s so cold,” Ars protested. “Are you sure?”

He received a harsh blow to the back of his head for his trouble. “I’ve a foot in the grave!” Hethys shrieked. “No affection for me? A pox on you! Take her before I lose my patience! Or my life!”

Though still uncertain, Ars was quick to move when Hethys raised her hand to strike him a second time. He lifted Mara into his arms and carried her from the chamber as ordered. Hethys hobbled behind him as swiftly as she was able, humming and smirking to herself all the while.