Lucian groaned theatrically as I hauled him to his feet. "Lazybones? I was merely contemplating the sky, Cassian. You should try it sometime—quite peaceful once you get past the whole 'goblins rampaging' part."

"Come on," I said, brushing off my robes. "The Sheriff wants to speak with us. It's not polite to keep him waiting."

We followed Hemlock toward the cathedral, passing through the smoke-draped remnants of the town square. The festive air had been smothered beneath ash and blood, and every step echoed with the quiet truth of survival.

Inside the cathedral, the hush was almost sacred. The destruction outside might as well have been a world away.

Seated near the altar were Father Zantus, pale and shaken but steady; Shalelu, arms crossed and expression unreadable; and Mayor Kendra Deverin, who looked like she hadn’t exhaled in an hour.

Hemlock waited until we were seated before he spoke. "You did good out there. Real good. We'd have lost a lot more if not for you two."

He looked to Father Zantus, who shifted uncomfortably before speaking.

"This attack wasn't random. We believe the goblins were a distraction."

"A distraction?" Lucian echoed, straightening.

Shalelu nodded. "Multiple tribes worked together. That never happens without someone uniting them. Someone powerful."

Hemlock’s jaw tightened. "During the attack, someone broke into the cathedral's graveyard."

Lucian let out a low whistle. "Grave robbing during a goblin raid? Bold."

"Not just bold," Zantus said grimly. "They stole the remains of Father Tobyn."

I blinked. The name meant nothing to me—but the silence that followed told me it meant everything to them.

Mayor Deverin finally spoke. "He was the high priest before me. He died in the fire that destroyed the old cathedral five years ago. We buried him here, in the new graveyard."

"And now he's gone," Hemlock said.

Shalelu added, "And someone wanted his remains badly enough to orchestrate a goblin assault to cover it up. The question is: why?"

I leaned forward, fingers steepled, mind racing. "There's no way these two things aren't related. Grave robbing at the same time as a goblin attack? That's pushing coincidence a bit far, even for a frontier town. My observation during the battle was that the goblins seemed focused only on chaos. If Tobyn’s grave was the only one disturbed, then that was the real purpose of the raid. The goblins were just noise."

I let the silence hang for a beat before continuing. "So who has the power to unite goblin tribes into something resembling a coordinated force? Who would want the remains of a high priest, and for what? Are there rituals, either holy or unholy, that could make use of his body? Was his death in the fire natural, or suspicious?"

I glanced at each of them in turn. "We're willing to help however we can. But right now, we’re short on answers. What can you tell us?"

My insight was met with a chorus of nods, my logical breakdown of events resonating with the gathered leaders.

"A distraction," Sheriff Hemlock muttered, his scowl deepening. "That makes sense. The goblins raised hell, drew our attention, while someone—something—took what they really wanted."

Shalelu folded her arms, her sharp gaze resting on me.

"As for who could unite the goblins?" she said, tone measured. "Not many. Goblins don’t work together unless they’re afraid of something worse than each other. If someone is organizing them, that means something dangerous is behind this."

She shook her head. "I know of a few goblin warchiefs, but none that could coordinate an attack like this."

Lucian leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the stone bench. "Alright, so that brings us back to the bigger question: what’s so special about Father Tobyn’s bones?"

Father Zantus adjusted his robes, expression grave. "Father Tobyn was a good man—a devoted priest of Desna, well-loved in the community. But… he was just a man. There was no sacred relic entombed with him, no known divine blessings upon his remains. At least, none that we were aware of."

Mayor Deverin frowned deeply, her voice quieter now. "The fire that took his life… it wasn’t natural."

I noticed the shift in the room’s mood. "It was an accident," the mayor said—but even she didn’t sound convinced.

"It happened five years ago," Sheriff Hemlock explained. "A terrible blaze, spreading fast—faster than it should have. The old cathedral burned to the ground, and Father Tobyn… didn’t make it out."

Lucian narrowed his eyes. "And you think this wasn’t just a normal fire?"

Shalelu shook her head. "Fires don’t start themselves, and they don’t spread like that without help. Some people in town always suspected… foul play."

Mayor Deverin rubbed her temples. "And now, after all these years, his remains are taken. It can’t be a coincidence."

My thoughts turned immediately toward magic. There were rituals that required a body—particularly one of spiritual significance.

Necromantic resurrection… sacrificial rites… even divination spells using a person’s remains to extract knowledge from beyond.

All of it possible.

"Shalelu," I said, looking to the elven ranger. "You seem to have the most intimate knowledge of these goblins. Could you check it out and see what is going on with them? We're running blind here at the moment. I think that's probably a dangerous thing."

Then I turned to Father Zantus. "Would it be possible to examine the tomb that was desecrated? Someone might have left clues."

And then, abruptly, I realized I’d been assigning tasks like I had the right to. My cheeks warmed.

"I'm sorry," I said, glancing between the mayor and the sheriff. "We're guests here, and I'm handing out tasks like I'm in charge. Forgive me."

Mayor Deverin waved a hand at my apology, brushing it aside with a tired but sincere expression. 

"No, Cassian, don’t apologize. You’re asking the right questions."

Sheriff Hemlock nodded. "You two helped save this town today. If you’ve got insight, we’ll listen."

I inclined my head in gratitude, still slightly flushed but encouraged by their response. 

Shalelu, ever sharp-eyed, studied me for a moment before speaking. "You’re not wrong. We’re blind here, and that’s dangerous."

She shifted her stance and uncrossed her arms. "I’ll head out, see what I can learn. If someone is uniting the goblin tribes, I’ll find out who."

I straightened. "That would be helpful. We’re running blind right now, and I think that’s probably a dangerous thing."

Shalelu gave me a nod—an acknowledgment, not of rank, but of perspective. "You’re thinking like a hunter. That’s good. Keep thinking that way."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the cathedral, already focused on her next steps.

I then turned to Father Zantus. "Would it be possible to examine the tomb that was desecrated? Someone might have left clues."

Zantus nodded immediately, his expression grave. "Yes, of course. I’ll take you there now."

Lucian and I exchanged a look before following him out into the cooling night.

The graveyard behind the cathedral lay quiet, heavy with the scent of ash and disturbed earth. A few charred banners still fluttered limply on broken poles, the aftermath of the raid visible even here.

Father Zantus led us along the worn path, the lantern in his hand casting long shadows across rows of stone markers. At the far edge of the cemetery stood a small stone mausoleum—unassuming, save for the iron gate now hanging open, the lock shattered.

I stepped closer. The heavy door creaked faintly as it moved in the breeze. Inside, the sarcophagus had been pried open—its stone lid shoved aside with surprising force.

The interior was dark, but not undisturbed. Scuff marks and scratches littered the floor. Old bones were gone. Completely gone.

Lucian let out a low whistle. "No subtlety here. They wanted something and didn’t care who noticed."

I knelt beside the sarcophagus, my brows furrowed. "There might still be something to learn."

I reached into my component pouch, drew a pinch of powdered silver, and began murmuring the incantation for Detect Magic. The air around me shimmered faintly as the spell settled into place.

As I swept my gaze across the chamber, faint traces of magic pulsed—residual energy clinging to the edges of the tomb. Not active magic, but something had been here. Something arcane. Something recent.

I stood slowly, dusting off my hands.

"Someone used magic here. It’s faint, but it’s fresh. Possibly necromancy… but I’d need more time to be sure."

Lucian looked around, his eyes narrowing. "And no footprints, no trail. Whoever did this came prepared."

I nodded, my jaw tight. 

The desecration wasn’t random. The goblin attack, the fire, the grave robbing—none of it was.

Someone had a plan.

And now they had Father Tobyn’s remains.

**15. Aftermath and Leads**

I stood near the desecrated tomb, my mind racing, the night air thick with the mingling scents of scorched wood and disturbed earth. The stolen remains, the magic used in the theft, the goblin raid—it was all too precise to be coincidence.

"A couple of questions come to mind right now," I said, turning to the others. "First, stealing this particular corpse and the use of necromantic magic makes it improbable that those committing the theft weren't somehow related to Father Tobyn. I think I need to know more about the fire that killed him and anything strange about it."

I paused, then added, "Next... I'm literally terrible with necromancy. I find it distasteful and never could quite bring myself to study it. That's proving to be inconvenient. Is there another arcane practitioner in town we might consult?"

Sheriff Hemlock rubbed his chin, nodding slowly. "That’s been sitting in the back of my mind too. Someone wanted Tobyn’s remains—not just any corpse."

Lucian folded his arms, leaning casually against a pillar. "I hate to say it, but if necromancy's involved, this isn’t over."

Father Zantus looked troubled but met my gaze. "The fire that took Father Tobyn was... strange. It happened five years ago, the night before the Swallowtail Festival—just like tonight. It spread fast. Too fast. It consumed the entire old cathedral before anyone could react."

His hands tightened as he continued. "Father Tobyn wasn’t the only one who died that night. His adopted daughter, Nualia, was lost in the fire as well."

Lucian straightened, surprised. "Wait—he had a daughter?"

"Not by blood," Zantus said, "but yes. Nualia was... special. A beautiful girl, part-Aasimar, born with celestial heritage. Father Tobyn raised her as his own, but she struggled here in Sandpoint. People saw her as a kind of divine blessing... but that was a heavy burden for a child."

He sighed deeply. "She was troubled. But no one expected the fire. Afterward, we found no remains of her—only her father's. Some whispered that she ran off, but..."

Mayor Deverin frowned, her expression taut. "The fire didn’t spread like a normal blaze. It moved too fast. Some folks have always suspected foul play. But we never had proof."

Zantus nodded solemnly. "And now, after all these years, Tobyn’s tomb is desecrated. It can’t be coincidence."

I considered the implications. Necromantic rituals could use remains for many things—resurrection, desecration, or even divination. Any one of those might apply.

"We don’t have a wizard in town," Mayor Deverin said, answering my second question. "But we do have Brodert Quink—a scholar of ancient magic and Thassilonian ruins. He might be able to help, if not with necromancy directly, then at least with magical theory."

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Thassilonian ruins? That’s right up your alley, cousin. Didn’t you want to study those anyway? So, what do we do next? Do we start poking at old mysteries, or do we consult the eccentric scholar first?"

I nodded, lips pursed in thought. There were several threads to follow now. The fire. Nualia. Father Tobyn’s remains. Whoever or whatever was behind the goblins.

But first...

"Neither," I said at last. "First we take a bath and get a meal. Killing goblins, casting spells, and putting out fires is hard and dirty work. I'm tired, hungry, and I smell bad. None of which is conducive to thinking. Let's go back to the Rusty Dragon, get cleaned up and fed. Then we'll go talk to the scholar and look through the town records around the time of the fire."

I glanced at Mayor Deverin and Sheriff Hemlock.

Hemlock chuckled. "You know what? That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard all night."

Mayor Deverin nodded, clearly approving. "Take your rest. You’ve more than earned it. We’ll still be here when you’re ready to dig into this mess."

Father Zantus gave us a wan smile, his voice quiet. "You’ve already done much for Sandpoint. Rest well. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it with clearer minds."

I gave them all a respectful nod, then turned toward the Rusty Dragon. There was work yet to do—but for now, a hot bath and a warm meal would have to come first.