Blackout 
Shadowhold
Shadow thinks for a long while. He takes the occasional puff from his pipe.
"Before The Admiral disappeared I would have said yes. But, now... If you can discover how they got Admiral I'll agree to meet with the boy." Shadow takes the Gem and slides it into his pocket. "Until then, I'll be here. Doing... something. Anything, I suppose, to make this better."

Rebel Camp
Karnariel scowls at Lexianna. He's grateful to her for healing them. But everyone in the camp is in the same mental and emotional state now. 
"It must be nice to just snap your fingers and wish away all your problems. But what about us? What about those we've lost? People who struggled and fought and died scared and alone far from their homes? There's no afterlife waiting for them. Where's their salvation? We carried on with the fight for their sake. But now you show up and trivialize it all with each miracle you perform. Every broken heart. Every dead brother in arms. Every hero buried in a shallow grave. Why did we even fight if you were going to just prance in and magic away all our problems? You're not saving us for our sake. You're saving us for your own gratification." The bitter hope permeates every rebel soul present. Karnariel's words hit home for every soldier in camp but not because of his charisma or natural leadership. Karnariel can speak so clearly for the rebellion because it's true for him too. Karnariel turns from Lexianna, setting his sword on the table. "Whatever... Get me those troops. Do that and I'll meet with Shadow."

Oasis
Zaak pauses a moment. His eyes return The First's disective gaze. Zaak has a urgency and seriousness that is so unlike his usual flipant demeanor. 
"I... I'm not sure. After the battle. I can't remember anything. The first thing I can remember since is waking in that reality. I managed to keep myself together long enough to find the Umbral Seed. From there... well. You saw." Zaak turns his attention to Lilianna as she asks for the weapon Omega left to her. His blighted hatred manifest and bound to steel. A ruined and decrepit sword that is eternally drenched in blood. His Cursed Vengeance. Zaak musters a bit of Umbra, shaping it into what he needs.

"I know where it is. Follow me." 

Zaak stares in mild horror. Followed quickly by anger.
"The sword. [i]My[/i] sword. He smelted it down... and made a gun. A fucking gun. The manifestation of hatred and resentment given physical form... and he turns it into a gun."