The Wandering Isles: Session 53

The road home continues, but not all roads lead to comfort.

The group presses on, bypassing Gatai in favor of a quieter path—one that takes them toward Asazaki, the birthplace of Eos. The journey is quiet at first, pensive. Conversation drifts toward Hatsu and the changes seen in him since he drew his ancestral blade. He seems uncertain, distant even. The weight of legacy is not one easily carried.

He recalls a moment from his childhood. A lesson from his grandmother, Sasaki. “I don’t give you this belt because you’ve earned it yet,” she told him. “I give it to you so you can grow into it.” The same, he now admits, is true of his sword. He hasn’t mastered it. Not yet. But he means to.

As they arrive at Eos’ family home, something feels immediately off. The door is open. Tea has been made recently—but no one is inside. Her mother, Raine, is gone. Eldrin keeps watch outside. There’s no sign of a struggle. Just… absence.

Inside, Eos leads them down to the undercroft—her family’s bookstore, sealed by an old iron gate. It’s always been there, but it feels different now. Heavier.

Amaedrianna is the first to notice it: a symbol etched into the stone. One she’s seen before—connected to the Unnamed One. Another nearby marking suggests a compass. She points it out to Hatsu, who searches for any written record of the Unnamed One in the books lining the walls. He finds nothing.

He questions Eos about it, but she offers no answers—only more questions, talking instead about her visions. About Weslyn. About dreams that feel like memories, or maybe the other way around.

Upstairs, Eldrin is greeted by a strange visitor. A local man named Old Toma wanders in, confused and half-tethered to reality. Eldrin tries to anchor him with an old story, but it slips from both their tongues. The man flees. Slate, stepping in, tries to redirect him gently—but when words fail, he conjures an illusion of food, and the old man, bemused and distracted, shuffles toward the scent.

Down below, the group turns their attention to an old staff hanging in the undercroft—an object that has always been there, and never questioned. Eos asks Slate to identify it. With some awkward support from Hatsu, he holds himself against it in strange concentration, the moment lingering far longer than expected.

Amaedrianna, ever suspicious, begins her own search. She finds more than dust: hidden panels, concealed compartments, and a tunnel sealed behind symbols they've seen before—one a compass, the other tied to the deep magic of Vulcanus. With a little guidance, Eos clicks her own compass into place. A doorway opens where none existed before.

The tunnel is narrow, winding downward to a heavy door. But no answers wait behind it—only more questions. With caution and uncertainty, they return to the undercroft.

Meanwhile, Slate is spiraling. Lost in arcane diagrams and ancient symbology—moons, gears, forgotten formulas—he scrawls with both hands at once, trying to hold on to something ephemeral, like a dream slipping through waking fingers. He calls Eos to help document what he cannot let himself forget. Together, they try to tether the fragments.

And then… something shifts.

Near them lies the book. The one tied to Vathros. Next to it, the arcane symbol of the Unnamed One. Amaedrianna reaches toward them—carefully—and smoke begins to rise.

From it, a shape forms.

A man.

Weslyn.

He notices Eos first. A memory of a dream just gone.

Hatsu approaches slowly, heart full and voice gentle. He speaks of winter, and sorrow, and hope. He greets his old friend.

But Weslyn does not recognize him.

In a moment that feels guided by something beyond understanding, Slate moves. Caught in a trance, he reaches for the ancient staff he'd been examining earlier. Without hesitation, he also takes hold of Eldrin’s holy symbol—one tied to the Unnamed One—and presses both to the wall.

Something gives.

A hidden chamber opens.

Within it, a book waits. Slate touches it, but it finds its way into Eos’s hands instead. She reads. And then, with the staff steady in her grip, she channels something—powerful, unknown, and distinctly not of this world. A rift tears through the air, jagged and glowing.

She steps through.

Just before the rift closes behind her, she hears it—her mother’s voice, distant and reaching. Calling her name.

Then silence.

When the others follow and emerge on the other side, the world has changed. This is no longer Arbores.

This is Desolata.

More specifically—Ashrest.

A place built for war. A place that doesn’t forget faces. And for Eos... a place that may never forgive.