Session 89
The group gathers as much loot as they can from the library, narrowly avoiding the activation of an alarm triggered by Prism.
They set their course for the Tenebralis Expanses but make several important stops along the way:
- Supply Stop: The party visits a shop to restock essential supplies.
- Seryna’s Residence: They stop at Seryna’s sanctuary to persuade her to join the journey. Xalphor is also there, and both accompany the group when they depart.
- Chloe’s House: Peach and Aydriann split off to visit Chloe. During the visit, Peach has a tense encounter with LeLune and warns her to stay away from Oriana. Peach also discusses the lingering scent of blood with Chloe. Meanwhile, Aydriann speaks with Vyrelin and instructs her to meet the others at Maeryn’s…he says he has a plan to get them out.
Later, Aydriann uses a unique spell scroll…crafted from the prismatic crystal of a slain dragon…..to send a message to his friend, Venoxyin. In the message, he apologizes, urges her to stay alive, and reassures her that there are people who still want her to survive.
Venoxyin’s Response:
“Hey, how’s it going. I saved her. Seek out Charlotte…I sent what I could with her to New Moonshire: a map, train directions, and some coin. I’ll try to stay alive, Aydriann. Don’t get too mad. I messed up. But hey…your friend Peach doesn’t have to die. I found a way in.”
Kervoite drew his cloak tighter, feeling the cold creep through layers of cloth as if it were a living thing. He turned his eyes to the ship waiting at the far end of the dock, where the ice had been cleared…a black slash against the endless white, the ships sails furled, its deck rimed with snow. Soon, that ship would carry his sister away to the isle of Thermdenn.
Vetrova walked beside him, close enough that he could hear the steady rasp of her breathing. Her boots crunched softly over the snow-packed wood. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The silence between them was heavy enough, a presence of its own.
Houseweaving. That was the name for it. An ancient custom, a binding of families by blood and oath rather than by marriage. Vetrova would be made daughter of House Sunamatel, while a stranger…Sigunia…would be given in return, bound to House Traxdina as brother.
Old customs for an old world.
Most had abandoned the practice long ago. Monarchs found it easier to forge alliances with vows of love and children bred for political ends. Yet Mikhailen, their father, had sought it out in recent events. He had negotiated this. He had planned it.
Not for honor. Not for loyalty.
For survival of the old ways of Icesyn.
Kervoite flexed his gloved fingers, feeling the leather crackle with frost. He and Vetrova had dared to name the Syn Trials for what they were: a quiet slaughter, a culling of the weak disguised as tradition. Strength, they had been told. Survival of the fittest.
Murder, Kervoite called it.
Vetrova and Kervoite had whispered rebellion into the cracks of the old world. And Mikhailen had heard. And answered…with this.
A houseweave to secure an alliance and trade routes, a guise to its true intentions.
He looked at Vetrova again. She caught his eye and smiled…a small, steady thing. A brave smile was more than he deserved.
He hated that it had to be her.
And yet…
At least it would take her far from here. Far from the Trials. Far from the grave disguised as home.
Snow whispered underfoot as Vetrova stepped onto the ship’s gangplank. A figure descended the opposite way to meet her…a tall man, wrapped in a heavy coat. His steps were deliberate, each one measured with a care that spoke of understanding what was being lost.
Sigunia, Kervoite thought.
In Icesyn, the people bore the mark of their land: skin pale as the snows, hair light as the mists, eyes bleached by survival. Those who endured the Syn Trials bore additional signs…white hair like woven frost, and eyes the color of azure glaciers, a legacy of blood reshaped by cold.
Thermdenn’s denizens were different. They spoke of flame, not ice. Their city was built atop the furnaces that forged Brathun steel, their bodies shaped by generations of living beside fire.
Sigunia’s skin was deep brown, rich against the snow. His features were strong: a broad nose, high cheekbones, full lips pressed in a line of thoughtful restraint. His hair, tightly curled, formed a neat, disciplined crown. His winter coat shimmered faintly under the aether-lanterns…dark fabric shot through with fine gold embroidery, sunburst patterns tracing his sleeves. A mark of devotion to Lesoilel, the Sun God.
The man moved like the ice itself parted for him. Not with arrogance, but with gravity. As if the world shifted to accommodate his presence.
Sigunia’s gaze found Kervoite.
And it wasn’t filled with disdain. Nor anger.
Sorrow.
Real, aching sorrow that hit Kervoite harder than hatred ever could.
Kervoite stiffened, heart hammering too fast. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He had expected a pawn…a lesser son, disposable and weak. Not… this.
Sigunia held his gaze a moment longer, then inclined his head…a gesture of respect. Of mourning.
The world seemed to tilt around Kervoite. The cold, the snow, the cracked and broken boards of the dock…he felt all of it and none of it at once.
Too much. Too soon.
Losing Vetrova. Watching her disappear into the ship’s yawning mouth. Bearing the weight of a father’s betrayal. And now… standing before a man who shouldn’t have mattered at all, but somehow did.
Sigunia didn’t need to speak. His presence alone said enough.
In Icesyn, danger wore many faces. The gnashing teeth of winter. The sharp smile of tradition. The whispered promises of duty.
Today, it wore Sigunia’s quiet gaze.
Kervoite drew in a breath, tasting ice on his tongue. He forced himself to breathe again, slower, deeper. In a life like his, mistakes were not forgiven. A glance too long. A heartbeat too fast. A single slip…and it wouldn’t be the Syn Trials that ended him.
It would be this.
He had built walls inside himself, stone by stone, fear by fear. He could not afford to let them crack now.
Not when the snow curled like restless spirits at their feet.
Not when Vetrova was already halfway to another life.
Not when Sigunia stood before him, wrapped in solemn grace and quiet, inevitable danger.
Kervoite locked the ache deep inside. Buried the traitorous bloom of feeling.
And stood…Still…Silent…Unyielding.
He needed to push any selfish desire aside. The Syn trial was what mattered. For everyone. He would find a way. He must find a way.