The Wandering Isles: Session 49

The night began with a quiet gesture. Dash returned to the scene of a violent act from earlier in the festival, leaving behind a note and coin in a silent attempt at atonement. Then, with a heavy heart, he went in search of Lysa. He found her among friends and family, where words were exchanged that reached far beyond the surface. She urged him not to lose himself—and spoke with a depth of insight that hinted at something more.

Elsewhere, Slate encountered the figure that had haunted his steps: a childlike stranger who called him “father.” Intrigued and uneasy, he led the figure—who named himself Latch—into the shadows. Amaedrianna followed unseen, watching from a distance as the conversation shifted from admiration to something darker. Latch’s form flickered, his words revealing unsettling truths. And when Slate turned on him with blade in hand, Latch fled—only to be cornered by Amaedrianna in a strike that echoed through the streets.

What followed was chaos: Latch cried for help in the form of a child, the crowd panicked, and the group scrambled to keep control. Eventually, the group imprisoned him, and Slate once again used the book to reach into deeper knowledge—but this time, he reached for something else.

Vathros.

Given permission by Latch, the ancient entity took over the body, spoke into the minds of the group, and offered wisdom, riddles, and something that sounded dangerously close to surrender. To Hatsu, he offered philosophical challenge. To Eos, he gave validation of her visions. To the rest, he asked only to be used well before his end came. And then, as quickly as he had arrived, he returned to the book. The moment passed, but its weight lingered.

Tempers frayed soon after. Amaedrianna accused Hatsu of treating his companions like prisoners, not peers. Her words cut deep, and she left. Eventually, they all returned to the Toshitsugu estate, each wrestling with what had just occurred.

Then the festival bells rang once more.

The city erupted with light, performance, and celebration. Ceremonial braziers lit across every district. Music soared. Food stalls spilled into streets. But beneath the revelry, tension simmered. Hatsu ordered Slate and Dash to remain under house arrest for their recent decisions—a request they accepted with surprising understanding. He left to find his mother, searching for clarity.

Across the city, celebrations continued. Simul Decker unveiled his latest marvel—guardians shaped like the Kensai themselves, towering automatons of progress. His words stirred admiration and outrage in equal measure: “Let the year ahead be guarded by progress, not fear.”

Eventually, Hatsu found his mother, Kokoro, and asked for guidance. Her reply was simple and true: life is not a hierarchy to climb, but a current to navigate. Her wisdom turned his thoughts inward. Humbled, Hatsu returned home and apologised to his friends. He found Dash and Slate rummaging through closets, trying on his family’s robes—bored, perhaps, but not bitter.

His journey of apology then led him to Amaedrianna, who was at the prison. They reconnected just in time for the next bell—a silent hour, a moment to honour the space between years. No words were spoken. Only Tacitalk, quiet taps and gestures, as the group shared thoughts without breath.

But peace never stays.

At the final bell, screams tore through the city.

The Archon’s men were on the move. The wolves got past the gate. Immediately, in the chaos, the prison wall collapsed under Ironclad’s fury. Latch was taken. The group gave chase, arriving just in time to see the council building aflame. Outside, Amaedrianna’s father opened a door—into the Arcanum itself—and vanished.

Afterwards, the group splintered again. Dash received two notes. One from Lysa, heavy with heartbreak. The other—a revelation: Marcus is alive.

Elsewhere, Eldrin awoke to a package on his windowsill. A pendant. A symbol. A whisper of something ancient and terrible. When he removed his goggles, his eyes shimmered between gold and violet. A memory of someone—or something—else crept into place.

Eos fell into visions once more, more vivid than ever. She saw truth twisted in time—past, present, and prophecy all blurred as the Crimson Moon pulsed before her.

Hatsu returned home to find his missing sword driven into the stone outside—alongside a torn piece of his father’s robes.

And Slate, haunted and drawn, scrawled forgotten symbols into Vathros’ book. As the lines faded, a memory rose—himself, once smiling, standing beside a man in chains. A name on the wall: Marcus. A note written. A truth revealed.

Then came one final message. A magical missive from Remington.

A coin. A warning. A call to flee. “Plant this where you want your bastion. Go now. Help the world in my absence. I will find you.”

And so the party stood, staring into an uncertain dawn.

The city they knew has changed.

The next chapter is no longer waiting.

It’s begun.

And with that... they reached Level 5.