The Wandering Isles: Session 63
Slate emerged from the pocket realm hidden within Eos’s staff, weary but alive after his long confinement. He spoke of trying to stir dormant powers within himself during that time, even the possibility of healing. His first words were of forgiveness for Eos, for trapping him there, before he quietly set out in search of food and found only their stores of salted fish curing by the fire.
Eos gathered the group for a meeting. She suggested they needed a way to receive letters, and together they established an AirCode to guide birds to the Crescent Pearl. She also floated the idea of a name for both their home and their company. The bastion might be called the Attaché, but what of themselves? They had been trapped in the book realm for what felt like a thousand years—surely their shared struggle warranted something to bind them in name as well as deed.
Suggestions came quickly. Eos offered “The Crescent Gems.” Eldrin countered with “Starbound,” then “Lightbearers” and “Dawnwardens.” Weslyn argued they had not yet done anything worthy of a name, nothing heroic enough to earn remembrance. Still, Eos confessed she wanted to write their story, to preserve it, and in doing so affirm that they were her family. Names came and went: “Wardens of the Isles,” “Sanctuary,” even Amaedrianna’s “We Shade,” an anagram of their initials. Hatsu pushed for a name that would inspire, Slate summarised their desires—representation, respect, acceptance, family—and suggested simply “The Family.” The debate wandered, as much a reunion of voices and laughter as it was a decision.
Between these lighter exchanges came moments of truth. They spoke of Dash’s absence and the book that chained Slate to his past. They wondered whether Dash had left of his own will or under Vathros’s control. Amaedrianna offered a theory that Vathros had been placed in the book to protect Slate, not to harm him, and she resolved to find Stella Maleficum’s journals for clarity. Weslyn was less hopeful, but Amaedrianna believed that if Stella had crafted pocket realms before, perhaps some still survived. More names were tested—“Crescent Shade,” “Unity,” “Snowdrop,” “Aequitas”—but Hatsu reminded them that purpose mattered more than words.
Talk turned to safeguarding their bastion. Remington once had defences here, but with him missing, they were vulnerable. They debated freeing the harpy trapped since Ashrest within the Seal. At last they chose release. The winged woman was suspicious, fearful it was a trap, but after careful assurances she gave her name: Virelya of the Broken Glade. With a warning to avoid the western woods and Eldrin’s altar, she flew away into the mountains.
Preparation for their voyage resumed. Amaedrianna asked hard questions: why Weslyn lived when once he had died, where Slate had gone, how Eos had torn open a portal. Weslyn’s answers were tangled in riddles. He spoke of dreams and dragons, of riding magic like a current, of a darkness that was better left unnamed. He claimed the book was a remnant of draconic magic, not of his making. He admitted he aged like the seasons. To questions of Harrow, he offered uncertainty. Slate’s voice cut through with bitterness, naming her crimes: torture, manipulation, murder, exploitation.
Amaedrianna pressed Slate on why he had leapt into the volcano after the book. He answered simply: he was trying to save it, trusting them to save him. He wanted to understand what tied it to Stella, to Vathros, to the history buried a thousand years deep. She warned him not to let it consume him. He promised he would not face it alone. For Slate, the book was the path to his past—his memories, his family in Palperroth—and he was not yet ready to let go.
Eos herself became the subject then, and the shadow of Ekdíkisi who lived within her. Amaedrianna attempted to address the crimson-eyed persona directly, asking whether she had tried to kill them at the volcano. The answer came coolly: she had heightened the danger only to drive them to flee, and reminded Amaedrianna, as ever, not to be afraid.
At last, Hatsu produced a feather he had long wondered about. Passed from hand to hand, Amaedrianna recognised it. The smell, the shape—it was a calling card from Lysa. It stirred memories of their lost companions, and left them wondering once more if Dash still lived.
As dawn broke, they pushed their vessel out into the waves. Slate bent over a map, marking their course. Hatsu prayed with chain and ring in hand, his words carried by the wind. The rain ceased, and the morning sun rose over the sea, carrying them onward.
