Isgarren, the Curator. A being of legend, boiled down to hostility and impatience. Whatever invaded his consciousness was vicious; neither Lyhr nor Dagda could break through the glacier of ice that covered his mind. Even Dagda—with all her stoicism—was shaken by the sight of him. Isgarren snarled at the group before retreating farther into the bastion. A brutal fight lay ahead of us. We pursued and cornered him in a small opening. His power was flickering outward, as if only a piece of his consciousness was exposed. A distilled manifestation of his bitterness, and we needed to break it down one ornery thought at a time. Dagda attempted to calm his spirit, but words alone wouldn't free Isgarren from the demon's grip. He threw Mabon's death at my feet in defiance. "Wayfinder" dripped from his mouth like venom, just as it had from Dagda on our first encounter. We fought. Grotesque clusters of Kryptis energy burst from Isgarren's manifestation as we battled. We attempted to quell that corruption before it could reinfect him—returning his thoughts to sludge and impatience. As the conflict raged on, Isgarren pulled farther back into the bastion. Lyhr and Dagda were mortified by what he'd become. Whatever or whoever had their claws in Isgarren's soul had burrowed deep. And the words he uttered pierced like arrows. To talk any sense into him, we needed to expose his vulnerabilities—break down every jaded thought and ideal until there was no refuge in which he could hide. He has mistakes to own up to, consequences to face, and a demon to kill. Isgarren eventually pulled away, retreating farther onto the ring. The group pushed forward, fighting against their heartbreak. Isgarren aimed his words—at me, at Mabon. Dagda remarked that in normal times he has a cavillous nature, but this far exceeded his worst days. Lyhr maintained his composure, keeping a keen eye on the situation and pointing out that Isgarren was headed straight for the heart of Amnytas: the World Spire. The only thing fending off a full-on Kryptis invasion. We pursued Isgarren to the next opening. His attention pivoted squarely to me, accusing me of only causing pain here—as I have all over Tyria. A lifetime of hurt starting with Zhaitan and leading to this moment. Isgarren only saw a threat. While I "reacted" and "scrambled" below, he claimed to protect this world from above. But I know damn well that his inflated ego is just that. He may have protected us from the Kryptis, but I kept the Elder Dragons from ripping the entire world apart. Toxic and vulgar manifestations ripped from his essence and lashed against us—Isgarren's subconscious attempting to defend his choices. They'd festered for far too long, and Isgarren needed a proper reminding of what's at stake: Tyria. Our mutual home, that we've each sworn to protect in our own way. His, the more dated. Battle worn and exhausted from our battle of benevolence, Isgarren fled from us once more. But we did not give him respite and cornered him soon after. With few options left for escape, Isgarren froze in place. His snarling spirit simmered, but something...strange happened (even stranger than the events that had come before). As we defeated Kryptis that appeared to feed on Isgarren, they dropped essence of unity—revealing that within Isgarren was at least some flicker of truth. He heard us. Isgarren saw that the only way to move forward was to do it together, with the Astral Ward. With me, even. When I threw this essence to him—into his manifestation—he was propelled forward. His icy shell began to crumble, a glimpse of the real Isgarren showing through. He crept forward, one step closer to the spire. As quickly as that shield fell, Cerus's voice boomed forth from Isgarren and the wizard pulled away—this time, to protect us. A portal to the World Spire opened in his place. ***