The Wandering Isles: Session 75
The storm over Saigo no Toshi had not yet settled. The blood moon still loomed high, its crimson glow bleeding through the clouds as the aftermath of chaos rippled through every street and soul.
Eldrin was the first to move, rushing through the ruin and rain to find the fallen. He found Hashirama Toshitsugu barely clinging to life and placed his hands upon him, channelling divine light until the old warrior jolted awake. Confused but resolute, Hashirama demanded to know where his son was. When Eldrin told him he was a friend of Hatsu’s, the man rose without hesitation, already readying himself to fight once more.
Eldrin tried to reach out through Vathros’s telepathic link, hoping to find the others. Slate was silent, Amaedrianna unresponsive, and Dash’s voice came through in a pained rasp that sent a chill through him. Then the link filled with nothing but agony before cutting off completely.
As Hashirama slipped away into the shadows to engage the enemy, Eldrin stumbled, his clumsiness giving them away with a clatter of metal. Hashirama ordered him to retreat, and he did—back into the safety of the half-ruined building. But Weslyn was gone, and Eos was nowhere to be found.
He found her soon after, just as she was leaving. Eos’s tone was steady but heavy with purpose. She had spoken to Lysa’s mind, offering strange, comforting words before confessing to Eldrin that she had to do something—something Ekdíkisi had told her to do. She believed she was meant to take a boy, perhaps Dash’s son, though she wasn’t sure. Eldrin begged her not to step outside beneath the blood moon, warning her that no good could come of it. Still, she insisted that she had to create a portal, that this was her purpose. Eldrin reluctantly agreed to help if the other side of her—the voice that called itself Ekdíkisi—took control.
He reached out again through the psychic link, hoping for guidance, but only Dash answered. “I got stabbed,” came the hoarse reply. “I’m in the prison.” Slate’s response was scathing—Dash wasn’t supposed to be there at all.
Moments earlier, Dash had been in the heart of that nightmare. Lorian Vask, the man called Latch, had driven his blade into him and left him bleeding in the shadows. Dash tried to provoke him, but Latch only smirked, taking Dash’s form to mock him further before leaving him with the cruel mercy of an antidote in a trapped cell. Dash crawled for it, each movement weaker than the last. He collapsed just as Ayame Fujiwara struck at Thrakgar above him.
Elsewhere, Slate’s mind had drifted far from the present, drawn into a vision from long ago. He was once again in Palperroth, standing beside Drel Morrix before the Crisis Response Unit. Together, they had infiltrated its lower levels under false pretences, presenting forged orders bearing the Sun King’s seal. Deep underground, they saw early horrors—the first experiments that would later become the metal-clad monstrosities like Ironclad himself. Slate stole strange vials and schematics before feigning an accident that triggered an evacuation, sealing away whatever sin had been born there.
Back in the now, Drel’s voice snapped him from the memory. The man stood before him, not with a skull for a face but wearing one all the same. Drel admitted he was acting under orders from the Archon, his double stationed here to await the inevitable siege. The two spoke like ghosts of a shared past before Slate turned his cunning to the present problem. Taking Drel aside, he assumed his likeness and convinced him that burning all the hostages at once in the teahouse would make a greater display. It was a dark trick—but one that might save lives.
Through the telepathic link, Slate warned the group that the hostages were being moved. Dash replied with urgency: if they saw him near the teahouse, they were to stab him immediately—it might be Latch.
While Slate carried out his deception, Hatsu faced Thrakgar in brutal combat. The warrior towered over him, clad in armour too thick to pierce. Ayame’s blade could not cut him. Dash lay near death as Hatsu fought desperately, flinging shuriken and strikes that barely drew blood. Thrakgar’s counterattack came with monstrous strength, his spiked boots driving Hatsu into the wall. Still, Hatsu created a cloud of darkness and pulled both Ayame and Dash into its cover, fleeing through the corridors. He recovered the antidote from Latch’s trap but kept it for inspection—trust was a luxury they could no longer afford.
As chaos unfolded, Eldrin and Eos argued about how to handle Duckie the horse, their absurd exchange momentarily cutting through the tension. When Kaelora appeared, she transformed the creature into a mouse to help it descend the stairs, much to Eldrin’s horror. He handed the tiny creature to Eos, who nearly panicked at the sight, but there was no time to argue.
Kaelora’s curiosity soon turned to the newborn twins, Ash and Elysa, and the strange energies that radiated from them. She examined them, explaining that one was Emberblood and the other Dawnmarked, though admitted that even she didn’t fully understand their nature.
Dash stumbled into the teahouse at last, half-conscious, bloodied, and barely standing. He ignored Kaelora’s questions, his focus locked on the twins he’d never met until now. His son and daughter. His breath caught in his throat as he looked upon them. Then his knees buckled. The poison was winning. Eldrin caught the babies as Dash fell into a chair, trembling, then slumped to the floor.
Hatsu arrived moments later, asking after his father, unaware Eldrin had already revived him. Slate entered soon after, bringing Hatsu’s grandmother, Sakura, while Hatsu carried his mother, Kokoro, both rescued by Boreal Paleclaw from the chaos above. For a brief moment, reunion cut through the noise of war.
Hatsu turned to Dash, kneeling beside him as the poison’s black veins spread. “This might be the last chance, Dash,” he said softly. “Do you want to take it?”
Dash nodded weakly and drank the antidote without hesitation. A heartbeat later, his body convulsed. He coughed, gasped, then fell forward onto the floor, motionless as the crimson moon shone through the shattered ceiling.
The blood moon did not fade. Not yet.
