Iromae tries to put all the newfound information about Vorenus aside.  And then she spies the door with the sigil in a shape of a loom. "That must be it. A loom for us to again properly bring our threads together and interweave them properly."  She has her quill at the ready, approaching the door as she now focuses in on her own threads, ready to play her part. 

"And how are we going to find the missing thread?" Shenua wonders aloud. "Perhaps, once our threads are correctly intertwined, the fifth will be easier to find...?" She looks at the others. "I have a feeling we have to do this at the same time. Shall we?"

She steps forward, reaching a hand toward the loom sigil—but stops just short of touching it, waiting for Iromae, Vorenus and Diego.

"We'll figure it out together," Iromae responds to Shenua. "All of us," she adds as her eyes flick over to Vorenus for just a moment. She steps up right next to Shenua, poised to touch the sigil along with her. 

Vorenus steps forward, holding his hands out, ready to touch the loom.  He takes Ironmae's hand in one and Shenua's in the other, and he looks over his shoulder at Diego.  "C'mon man.  We've got to do this together.  All as one.  Our dysfunctional little crew.  I guess I'm the Captain of the ship Dysfunctiona.  But we are here together, and with all of us working as one, we can make this thing sing...."  He looks to Diego and winks, as if to give him a cue.  

OOC: I'm still hopeful Deconblu will return. Until he does, I'm going to add little bits of Diego as an NPC so that he still feels part of the story.

The moment all four of you press your hands to the loom sigil, the corridor blinks away.

It’s not a flash, nor a fade; it is a shuddering shift — like a page being turned in a book you were halfway through reading.

The pressure in your ears fades to a flat, unnatural silence. Then slowly, sensation returns — stone beneath your boots, cool air against your skin, the faint drip of moisture echoing off stone walls.

You stand in the same place. Or … you think you do: The corridor beneath the Guild.

The leyline hum is gone, however, as is the stabilizer’s distant pulse. The sigil on the door is gone.

In fact, the door itself is gone.

The walls here are old and covered in lichen and thick mineral deposits. They slope wrongly, as if built by different hands entirely.

The passage behind you ends in solid rock. The teleportation lift? Gone. No seams. No glyphs. No return.

You are underground — deep underground.

A single narrow tunnel stretches forward. It is natural stone now, rough and dripping, branching here and there into what looks like a forgotten cave system.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Diego mutters quietly, adjusting his grip on his baton. His usual smirk is replaced with a sharp alertness. “We’re not where we were.”

The air is thick, stagnant, yet there’s a distant whisper of wind — a hint of airflow, somewhere ahead.

It’s your only path forward.

The Weave is silent.

Your tools are still warm. Still connected. But they don’t pulse with the same energy they had before. Something has shifted. Something is missing.

Iromae takes a quick look around, then blinks her eyes.  It wasn't quite the same as the moment before when everything seemed to have blinked. 'No, not the same at all,' she thinks. 

"We moved. Or shifted? I don't think we're in the same place anymore." She still grasps the quill in her hand, feeling the warmth from it. And the connection. In the quiet, without the hum of leyline or pulse of the stabilizer, she is a little confused. "Is the leyline gone here?" As she looks ahead, she realizes the changes to the stone - now seeming natural, as though they were simply within a cave system. "I guess our only path is forward. But should we investigate things here at all? Maybe we should try a spell to detect magic here? I could also see if detect any beings here - aberration, celestial, elemental, fey, fiend, or undead?"

"Grathna said that reality went sideways when the Singularity happened. Could this be part of what she meant?" Shenua asks, her voice thoughtful. She studies her device. "They seem to have gone dormant. Perhaps they'll reawaken once we're nearer the core."

The tiefling glances toward the branching caves with concern. "If we take the wrong turn, we could be lost here forever. Let's mark the walls as we go — that way we'll know if we circle back." she proposes.

When Iromae suggests detecting magic, Shenua nods and pulls out her lockpick. Carefully, she begins tracing a circle etched with arcane runes onto the stone floor. The process takes several minutes. When it's done, she rests a hand within the circle, murmurs an incantation under her breath, and allows the Weave to guide her senses. She lifts her gaze to the walls, the ceiling, and the path ahead. Does anything ping back? Any hint of which way to go? A hint clearer than the faint trace of air messing with their hair.

As Shenua finishes her ritual, the carved circle softly pulses once — then settles into stillness. The Weave answers. But the feeling is ... wrong.

Where you would normally sense magic flowing gently around you — latent, ambient, humming with life — here, it is strained. Tattered. Thin.

And yet — there is something.

To your left, in one of the smaller side tunnels, you feel a faint flicker of magic. Not strong. Not wild. Old. Fading. Like the dying embers of a once-powerful enchantment, barely clinging to existence.

In every other direction, there is nothing. Stone. Silence. The stale breath of an abandoned world.

Diego shifts slightly, noticing your focus. “Feel something?” he asks quietly, baton at the ready.

The breeze — what little there is — still seems to come from ahead, along the main tunnel. But the glimmer of magic flickers again, deeper down the left-hand path, as if beckoning. A whisper of a promise — or perhaps a warning.

Vorenus holds his silver needle up in his hand, trying to feel his connection to it.  He watches Shenua trace the arcane rune on the floor, a marker so they won't get lost.  "Great idea.  Much better than breadcrumbs.  Who knows what would happen if we get lost in here..."  He waits and watches, feels the hint of arcane magic like the others do, the hair rises on his arms and he feels a cold sweat touch his forehead and the back of his neck.  

"The leftward path.  That's where we should go.  Do you agree?"  He looks down at his needle, trying to feel his part in the weave, or at least what he can do to help, but in the end he looks forward and starts to move that way if everyone agrees.  

Iromae watches, waiting quietly as Shenua casts her ritual. She knows the hour is getting late, but the nervous tension of being stuck here still has her going. When the tiefling shares the results, she is even more worried. "How could that be? Where could we have gone?" Now the faint flicker seems like a beacon. They have to go check it out, right? Though she feels the faint breeze still from the main tunnel.  Should they just get out, find out where they are, and get some rest before they investigate?

After she hears Vorenus, she lets out a quiet sigh. "Yes, we've got to see what that is." 

"Agreed," Shenua replies. "At least we know there's a path that seems to lead out of here," she adds, nodding toward the central passage. "We should check the left path first. It's getting late, but..." She hesitates, then nods to herself. "Yeah, I think it's better to check it out."

The artificer follows after Vorenus, making the most of her active magic detection spell. One would expect the magical signal that pinged earlier to grow stronger as they continue walking. As they move, she keeps leaving marks along the path to avoid getting lost.

The tunnel descends into stillness, your footsteps muffled by damp stone and lichen underfoot. The air here is denser — charged with the faint pressure of lingering magic. Shenua’s spell pulses softly, like a heartbeat slowing to rest. The flicker grows clearer.

At the end of the corridor, the stone opens into a small, domed chamber no larger than a merchant’s cellar. The stone here is different — smoother. Worked by hand long ago, but not by Guild masons. The curves are graceful, almost organic, and worn with age.

A single stone plinth stands at the center, cracked but upright. Atop it stretches a silver thread, pulled taut between two rusted anchors. Its glow is faint — elegant, restrained. Barely noticeable if not for your enhanced senses. It hums quietly in response to your presence, a vibration that seems to echo inside your bones.

Your artifacts — fork, needle, baton, quill — respond too. Not a surge. Just a pull. A soft resonance, like the feeling of a memory at the edge of awareness.

The thread is real. Tangible. And old. Not from a recent spell or trap, but something maintained across years — decades, maybe. Yet it’s intact.

There are no markings to suggest who built this. No name. No dedication. Only the soft light, the silence, and the steady, persistent thread — waiting.

Diego takes a slow step forward and mutters, “This … this feels like something we were meant to find.”

There’s no sign of danger. But there is a sense of purpose. Of being watched. Not with hostility, but with hope.

Iromae nods, agreeing with Diego's comment. She steps closer to investigate the thread. "I still don't particularly like this. Not knowing where we are or what is going on." As she speaks, she also examines the rusted anchors. "Is this thread the 'thing' that was disrupting the stabilizer? Or something else?"  She senses the pull from her quill, still in her hand.  She raises it, bringing it closer to the silver thread, just testing for any reactions. And she tries to puzzle over what this could be or represent. (Arcana: 8)

Shenua steps closer to the stone plinth, inevitably drawn to the silver thread atop it. "Amazing," she murmurs. "Everything around this thread has decayed over time, but the thread itself remains as perfect as if it was built yesterday." She pauses, then corrects herself. "Well, built may not be the right word. Perhaps this simply came into being, same as the Weave itself."

In response to Iromae's question, Shenua glances over. "Could this be what's disrupting the stabilizer? I almost don't want to believe something so beautiful—so pure—could be responsible. But… we should consider all possibilities."

The tiefling narrows her eyes, focusing. Drawing on the remnants of her detection spell, she studies the thread's magical signature—not just its school of magic, but how it connects to the Weave itself. Disruption or not, she intends to uncover the thread's true purpose.

(ooc: Since the detect magic will not necesarily tell if the thread is the cause of the disruption, I'm leaving a roll as well, in case it is necessary. Arcana: natural 20, total 26)

Vorenus is fascinated as well, putting his hand on the arched stone opening to the chamber, pausing as if to feel how old this place is, how many hands may have touched this worn stone.  He sits down at the base of the plinth, feeling the stone there, trying to feel if it resonates, anything he can discern.  Finally, he stands, holding his silver needle, nearly replicating the motions and intent of Ironmae, he closes his hand around the needle and moves it closer to the thread.  “Needle and thread…” he says, as he does so.  He is lost in thought and feeling, mind reeling too much to speak.  

Arcana : 14

The moment Iromae lifts her quill, the faint glow of the thread intensifies — not harsh, not sudden. Just aware. The air tingles, like breath before thunder. Her quill doesn’t touch the thread, but the pull between them becomes almost magnetic. Her arcane instincts flutter but give no clear answers; the thread doesn’t behave like a magical trap or artifact. It’s … different. Beyond her training.

Shenua, however, sees more. As she narrows her eyes and focuses her senses, the Weave itself seems to part slightly before her.

The thread is ancient. Not crafted — but anchored. It carries a signature that doesn’t belong to this world, or perhaps not only to this world. It hums with abjuration and transmutation, but not in any structured form like a spell. It’s ambient — woven into reality like a hidden seam in fabric.

And it is not the cause of the stabilizer’s disruption. But it is nearby because of that disruption. Like a stitch pulled taut when cloth begins to tear.

It is part of a larger tapestry — a binding, or bridge, from somewhere beyond.

Then something flickers.

As Shenua’s eyes track the magic, the thread pulses softly — once — and for a half-second, the walls vanish.

The chamber, the stone, the thread — all remain. But the world around it is … different. The light outside is colder. The sky a strange twilight blue. The silhouette of Suzail visible through a thin, rocky veil — but its towers slightly taller, its skyline unfamiliar. And then the vision collapses, snapping back into the cavern.

It leaves no physical mark. Only a shared sense of displacement. A tremor in the soul.

Vorenus’s needle hums faintly. As he speaks the words — “Needle and thread” — the thread itself vibrates in response. Not visibly, but in the back of the mind. Like a tuning fork that resonates with a song only the four of them can hear.

A whisper — not in words — brushes the edge of their thoughts:

You are not where you were.
But you are needed where you are.

Diego glances at the others, frowning. “Did anyone else see that? That … flash of the city?” His voice is quiet, subdued. “It felt like looking at home through a window. But something’s wrong with the glass.”

The thread still glows. Still hums. Still waits.

It does not answer questions. But it listens.

"Yea, Suzail," Iromae responds to Diego, clearly at a loss to understand what's happening. "Through the stone, but it wasn't quite right." She considers the wordless whisper that had been in her head. "We are needed where we are - I presume you all heard... know... remember the words? Does that mean here with this thread? Or here where that city-that-isn't-Suzail is located."  

She shakes her head, closing her eyes a moment. "I must just be getting tired. We all feel the tools we have, responding to this thread. This exact spot must be where we need to be. But are we... traveling with each pulse? When do you suppose it will pulse again?" There's frustration in her voice, knowing that at this point she doesn't have the answers. But Shenua's explanations make sense. She tries to focus on that. 

"Someone or something must have caused this to happen. Made this stitch. But do we need to fix it or use it?"  She quickly casts Detect Magic. "Maybe with two of us watching we can figure this out." She then turns to Vorenus. "Needle and thread. That feels to me like the closest fit. Perhaps if we touch the needle to the thread, we can observe what happens. Carefully though. We don't want to damage anything. Just explore."  

Assuming Vorenus does this - or with whatever anyone else might try - Iromae attempts to understand what it is they are seeing. (Arcana: 16)

Shenua doesn't know what to say about the parallel Suzail they've just witnessed, if only for a fleeting moment. But she would like to see it again. "Perhaps if we interact with the thread a bit more directly—rather than just watching it with our heightened senses—it will return for longer. Or even come to be." She pauses. "I think Iromae's idea is good: Vorenus' needle might help. That thread isn't the cause of the disruption, after all. And it's part of something bigger. A tapestry. Shouldn't it be woven back into whatever it was part of? Perhaps that is what we are needed to do."

Vorenus hears, feels the vibration in the thread as he says the words aloud, he turns to look at Diego, Shenua and Ironmae.  "I guess I'm on to something... it must be.   The only way to find out is to try... but I don't want to try alone.  Will you all hold my other hand?  In case this whisks me away... I want you all to come with me.  Will you?"  

Vorenus holds out his left hand, hoping to grip hands and make a chain.  If everyone agrees, he brings the needle out in the right hand, holding it near the thread, touching it, and he starts to make sewing motions, trying to look through his mind's eye, imagining that he's repairing a thread that is broken...

Shenua squeezes Vorenus' hand with a small, determined smile. "You've got this."