-Imca just silently waits for Racksdin to send them back even if she herself has further plans-
-She has primed a pair of grenades in her pickets, and is waiting until the absolute last second before there sent back-
-The fuse she determines should give the spell enough time to complete, but still allow her to take care of the rather unsavory magus in front of her-
Racksdin cracks a smile.
His knife glows, and then the world goes dark. There's no light to be seen anywhere. It's a void, an endless void. It ends after a minute or so of nothingness.
Yrala was broken, battered. Its greatest cities were ruined. Gilre, Kentil, Kejlras. All of them were smoking ruins, filled with the charred corpses. But even though Yrala lost more than half of its people, they rebuilt. Kejlras’s stark buildings soared over the streets after some years. Gilre never quite recovered to its former strength, tottering along in the shower of the city in the north.
After the Fey left, magic slowly left Yrala. The people who already had it didn’t lose it. But their children didn’t have it. As the years dragged on, the seers of old died out. In magic’s place, ingenuity followed. After a hundred years, Yrala made its first firearm. Five hundred years after that, they went to the stars. The heroes of old had been forgotten by then. Or at least, their memories were faded. The strange travelers from beyond the world slowly turned into “valiant warriors of Kelsic.” Not even Iole was immune to this. His name did not survive to the stars. Neither did Racksdin’s, though he probably preferred it that way.
In the direct aftermath of Yrala’s near-destruction, Iole Taraken was beside himself. He didn’t know how to deal with all the people he’d let die. But after some time, he set his mind to reconstruction. He went throughout all of Yrala, trying to find places where he could help. Along the way, he had some children, but they weren’t seers like he was. He knew why, but he never came to terms with it. He also didn’t approve of them being merchants, but he couldn't stop them.
Throughout all of Iole’s travels, he never once set foot in Kejlras again. He knew better than to do that. Racksdin had claimed that. It took Racksdin decades to heal himself from the beating he got, but survive he did. The legend of the man in the ace had to continue. He had work to do. He was no fool. Yrala was going to come under attack again, and if Iole wasn’t going to prepare for it, then he was. So that’s what Racksdin did. He toiled under the ice, helped by his assistants, until that day finally arrived.
Vyiac, strangely, didn’t go back with Hajkr. Racksdin had made him too humanlike for him to be truly Fey anymore. Unlike Racksdin, who had the "gift" of using blood to rejuvenate himself, Vyiac slowly aged and aged and aged. He died less than a hundred years after those travelers left.
Theln, on the other hand, wasn’t human. When Hajkr left, Theln was pulled with him. But his fellow Fey didn’t kill him. Why would they? He was just a faceless. No one knew who he had been, what he had done. And Theln, well, he kinda liked that.
Djhalen made good on his promise that he would be glad to die in the service of Yrala. He fell in the battle for Gilre. Though he was the captain of the Errant Guard, the mightiest warriors in all the land, he wasn’t immune to the power of the Fey. His luck had run out, and fame and prestige weren’t enough to save him.
Tsa survived, but barely. She was lucky to be one of the few afterwards who had the gift of magic. She never had the power of people like Iole, but she could do something to help. As she got older, she became widely known for being one of the last magical healers in the whole world. She left no one behind when she died, but she didn’t need to. She’d done enough.
Valaro never knew anything about the war until some refugees passed him by. He was filled with anger and hatred for a while. Valaro knew, he just knew that something he had done with those strange people had something to do with it. His fears were put to rest when Iole, his old friend from so long ago, found him near the end of his life. They reminisced for a while, but they went their separate ways. Valaro had done something good with his life, or the lack thereof. The old sand spirit was happy.
Light returns, and so does substance. But they're not in Kejlras anymore. They're all standing in front of the room, right by the door.

... Whatever, we need to get going...
dead devotion