The Wandering Isles: Session 41
The library hummed with the quiet rustle of pages turning, the occasional scratch of quill on parchment, and the soft flickering of candlelight against the grand wooden shelves. The group sat scattered across the space, each lost in their own world of study, preparing for the long journey ahead—Saigo no Toshi awaited, and none of them intended to arrive unprepared. Texts of culture, history, and combat lined their desks, their minds already traveling eastward before their bodies ever left the Arcanum.
The following day, Eldrin sought out Dash, finding him in one of the quieter corners of the Arcanum. What began as casual conversation over a drink quickly spiraled into something deeper. As the liquor flowed, so did Eldrin’s past. He spoke of Bricksunder, of his time in the guard, of things he had seen, things he had done. Some truths were spoken plainly, others were left to hang in the air, understood without needing to be said. The weight of his past pressed against his words, and for the first time since his arrival, he allowed someone else to carry even a small part of it.
But the moment was short-lived.
Cassiel Vaelor, the Monarch’s Blade, arrived unannounced, his presence like a blade drawn in a room too quiet. He carried a message not of his own making—Ramseth, The Sun King, had demanded that the prisoner, Fitz, The Inferno, be moved to Scorchwood Correctional Facility. Remington Maleficum did not argue. He allowed it. But what was spoken in the open was heard by more than intended.
Amaedrianna, hidden in the shadows, stepped forward.
Slate was summoned, and together they descended into the depths of the Arcanum, where Fitz sat shackled, waiting. The interrogation that followed unraveled truths none of them were prepared to face. He spoke of the past with a twisted sort of pride. He had killed his own mother. He had been part of the same experimentation that had created Slate. Worse still, Slate had once taken Fitz’s form to escape the horrors of that captivity. His past was not just tied to Fitz—it was entangled with him, inseparable.
Shaken but unwilling to stop there, Slate turned to Chaunce Artifice. If there were answers, he would find them. What he learned changed everything.
He was a Metamorph.
His existence was not random, not a mystery without a name. He belonged to something. And Chaunce, ever the keeper of secrets, suspected the experiments Slate had once suffered through were still ongoing. Their location? The very place Fitz was being taken.
Scorchwood Correctional Facility.
Meanwhile, Amaedrianna waited for Slate to return, her mind heavy with everything they had uncovered. As they walked back together, they stumbled upon a sight that broke the tension—Eldrin, sprawled out in the sand, drunkenly making angels beneath the night sky. A rare, absurd moment of levity. Amaedrianna wasted no time, burying him in the sand, shaping it into the form of a mermaid before leaving him to sleep off whatever burdens he had tried to drink away.
Elsewhere, Dash sought out Eos, presenting her with a gift—a mask, black and intricately designed, adorned with deep purple fabrics. It was elegant, beautiful, and unmistakably meant for her. A moment of quiet understanding passed between them, but words weren’t necessary.
Later that evening, Eos knelt at Weslyn’s grave, a gentle prayer on her lips as she tended to the strange, iridescent plants that had taken root there. As she poured water over them, they shimmered, humming with a sound too soft to name, as though singing in gratitude. She stayed there for some time, lost in her devotion, lost in memory.
As she returned, she found herself explaining magic to Dash—a task that quickly proved futile. He nodded, listened, and followed along with the patience of someone who understood precisely none of what was being said. Still, he let her speak, because sometimes it wasn’t about understanding. Sometimes it was just about listening.
The night ended with Dash hauling a very unsteady Eldrin back to his room, ensuring that, at the very least, he made it to bed in one piece. The days ahead would not be easy, but for now, they had a brief moment of peace.
Four days remained before their departure to Saigo no Toshi.
Four days before the next chapter of their journey began.
