Iromae nods at Vorenus' request, reaching to take Shenua's hand. She offers her other to Diego. "May Deneir guide us." 

The moment Vorenus’ needle brushes the silver thread, the thread shimmers.

The hum intensifies. The cavern dims. Your hands are still clasped, your artifacts still warm. But instead of pulling you forward — into magic, into revelation — the Weave slams shut.

Not with violence ... With precision.

A shimmer of light erupts across the thread’s surface — a lattice of arcane sigils snapping into place like threads in a loom locking shut. It surrounds the thread in a cage of flickering energy — subtle, elegant, unmistakably artificial.

Not natural. Not ancient.

Recent.

Then, without warning, the flickering sigils reshape into a single glyph — simple, cold, stylized. It glows softly, and from it forms an image. Not an illusion, not a vision — just a presence in the magic itself.

Kalis.

Her face, calm but severe, appears in profile within the light. Her eyes don’t move. Her lips don’t part. But her voice echoes around the chamber in clear, practiced Common: “Magic is forbidden.”

And then ... nothing. The thread dims. The sigils fade.

But the ward remains. Untouchable. The Weave has been locked.

Diego stares, stunned. “Was that … her?”

The silence answers.

And the silver thread, once so alive, now glows behind a barrier of authority — something designed to repel and to protect.

"Whoa," is all Iromae says at first. It takes her a moment, but she finally responds to Diego. "I think it is Kalis. Not recording or illusion. Is she here? Is this where she's trapped?" Her eyes then turn to Vorenus. "All you did was touch it with your needle and she shows up saying 'No Magic'.  Hmm, well I suppose these tools we've been given are magical."

"Well, that was unexpected," Shenua says, steadying herself after seeing Kalis's severe expression and hearing her warning that magic is forbidden.

"I mean, I like that we've seen her—because that must mean we're getting closer to her. But… what do we do about this?" The tiefling points a clawed finger toward the ward. "Is this protecting the thread from magical interactions, but also from physical ones?"

She glances around, picks up a small pebble, or a copper coin if she finds none, and lets it fall over the ward—half expecting it to vanish, half expecting it to bounce off.

Whatever happens, Shenua leans in to study the ward more closely. Does the sigil mean anything to her? Can she determine who is fueling this magic, and from where?

Not sure if Investigation or Arcana. Either way, it is a 21

Iromae replies to Shenua, "If we can't use magic then we need to use physical means, right?" She takes a moment to look more closely at the thread as well.  She tries to determine whether they're might be a way do release the thread - without damaging it. (Investigation: 22) "I still don't know if this is protecting something or holding something. would we want to... release this thread? I mean, if we even could."

“No magic?  What the… I don’t know what that means?!?  To me, it was calling me to use the needle, but now this… “. He looks up at the image, looking for Kalis.  “Kalis, what do you mean?  What should we do to fix this, if we can’t use magic?  Can you tell us anything more?”  He keeps looking about for anything more, any clues they are missing.  

Investigation : 9

The image of Kalis fades, her voice echoing one last time: “Magic is forbidden.”

Then ... stillness.

Only the faint hum of the warded barrier remains, shimmering softly around the silver thread. It pulses once — quiet, calm — and settles into a steady glow.

Shenua flicks the copper coin toward it. It arcs, gleams, and tinks gently off the barrier, falling to the stone floor with a small metallic clink. The shield is not destructive. Not hostile. But impenetrable.

Her study of the ward’s construction reveals something deeper. The sigils forming the lattice aren’t just meant to protect — they are binding something by identity. They were created by someone with total arcane authority over this space. Not a trap. Not an ancient failsafe.

A seal. A law.

And the signature? Kalis’s. You know this.

Iromae’s analysis of the surrounding stone confirms it: the ward encloses the thread and its anchors completely. There’s no hinge, no break point. It hasn’t degraded with time. If anything, it’s perfect.

More than that — it feels intentional. A protective stasis. As though someone placed the thread here, sealed it with great care, and walked away — waiting for the right hands to return.

Vorenus’s voice stirs no magical response, but a small tremble ripples along the thread’s edge — acknowledgment, maybe. Or regret.

The Weave here is quiet. Not severed, not angry — just ... withdrawn.

Diego slowly exhales. “She’s here. I don’t know how, or why, but she is.” He steps back from the plinth, then glances to the others. “I say we find our way out of this cave and figure out just where ‘here’ is.”

There’s no other door. No guiding thread. Only the path you came from — the tunnel where a faint breeze still carries the distant scent of city life.

"Yea, Kalis did this, so we shouldn't undo it," Iromae states. "She wanted it protected, and I trust her. I can feel though that it was left for us.  We're supposed to do something with this. Although, perhaps we already did. Maybe it was the thing that got us here. And getting us here was what it was meant to do."  She looks at Diego. "Maybe it is time to go and see where exactly here is."  

She waits to see what Vorenus and Shenua will say as well. "It is getting late too. I just hope we can find a place to rest." 

Shenua crouched down and picked up the coin, studying it for a couple of seconds as she tried to reflect on what had happened. If this was Kalis's work, perhaps it was best to let it be. But the tiefling couldn't help but look at the warded thread, wondering if they had been led here only to secure it. Was there really nothing else they could do?

"It feels strange to just let the thread be. I thought we came here to fix whatever is happening to the Weave. Leaving now feels like we're not completing the job."

She pocketed the coin again, crossed her arms, and looked once more at the ward. Definitely Kalis's signature. Did they really have to leave it as it was? The thread looked protected, certainly, but...

Her tail twitched once, agitated, before curling loosely behind her. After a few moments, she let her arms fall and shrugged. "Well, I guess this is what it is. I'm okay with checking the other path. I just can't shake the feeling that we're going to return to the Guild empty-handed."

Shenua looked at the others, turned to leave, and said, "Ready when you are."

"I'm not sure we're returning to the Guild any time soon," Iromae observes. "We may well be back here at some point before we do." 

She looks to Vorenus to see what he might say but then suddenly has an idea. "You know, I could cast Locate Object to try and get an idea of how far we are from something, like maybe the stabilizer. No! What about that sealed chamber door? Do you think we've gone 1000 feet from where we arrived? It would be interesting to gauge how far we might have gotten from that spot." 

(OOC - Does Iromae think they've walked more than 1000 feet?  If it's much less, she'll go ahead and cast the spell. If it seems like they've walked too far she suggests maybe backtracking just a bit and then tries the spell.) 

"I thought the tunnel with the faint breeze would lead us outside," Shenua replies. "But maybe you're right. Let's see what your spell tells us," she adds with a nod.

“I agree, let’s see - we may be far away from the academy, who knows.”  Vorenus looks back at the thread, scratching his scruffy beard and considering.  “It is frustrating, I thought the needle would help.  “Magic is Forbidden.”  Such an odd thing.  Why?  Surely to protect the thread.  Maybe the thread can be harmed, and all of this is to protect it.  Maybe we don’t have the right instrument, the right object to accomplish this.  It just doesn’t make sense to me.”  He turns to Ironmae, “It’s a good idea, go ahead with your spell, that will give us more information.  Then we can continue… wherever that takes us.  Kalis.  What have you done here?”  Vorenus stops, puzzling and clearly stumped about what their next move should be.  

The ward hums behind you — untouched and unchanged — as you begin retracing your steps back toward the main tunnel.

Iromae pauses, considering the distance. You've walked a fair bit since the sigil chamber — winding caverns, subtle elevation shifts — but judging by the way the breeze still drifts faintly through the passage … you're likely still within a thousand feet of the old Guild sublevels.

She focuses, murmuring the incantation for Locate Object, choosing the sealed chamber door you originally passed beneath the Guild.

The magic surges … then flickers.

Not a failure. Not a block. But a result that feels … tilted. Like trying to use a compass in a storm.

The spell completes — but the result is unclear. She senses the object. Definitely. But not above. Not below. Beside you. Somewhere near, but unreachable. As if it exists in a place just barely out of step with the one you now occupy.

There is a brief tug to the left as you exit the side chamber — then nothing. The magic quiets, as if uncertain where to point.

The tunnel ahead remains open, narrow but walkable. The air grows fresher with each step. And after another few hundred feet, you come to an open doorway.

The small stone doorway — wedged half open — opens into a cellar. Dry air. Cobwebs. Dust. Long-rotted crates and bottles lining shelves. The scent of old ink and parchment lingers faintly in the air, though there's no sign of books.

But something is … off.

As you step forward into the cellar, your artifacts give a soft thrumming pulse. Not loud. Not active. Just … aware. And as each of you crosses the threshold, there’s a flicker.

You don’t see it, but you feel it: a shimmer of magic brushing past you. For the briefest instant, your skin tingles — like passing through the veil of an unseen spell.

Shenua, with her magical senses still heightened, sees it. A faint ripple in the air behind them — like water disturbed by a passing boat.

The doorway is not there. Instead, they only see more unassuming clutter that actually repels the eye.

An illusion. Not meant to harm. Meant to hide.

Perhaps Kalis built this place. This may have been a safehouse or workshop — hidden from view, and locked away behind wards and spells so subtle that no ordinary mage would even sense them.

The door ahead leads to a narrow stairwell, its upper half partly crumbled. You push carefully upward, Diego helping clear away the loosened debris.

At the top is a simple wooden hatch, old but not broken. You lift it open quietly and peer out.

Twilight. The sky outside is dark indigo, stars faint but clear. A full moon hangs overhead.

You exit into a side street, coming up out of what looks like an ordinary cellar entrance connected to a building.

You walk a little ways into the broader main road and look around. You are in Suzail, but not the Suzail you know.

The towers are taller. The shapes of rooftops unfamiliar. There's no Academy dome in view — where it should be, a large watchtower now stands, trimmed in dark iron and unfamiliar banners.

The streets are empty. Lanterns burn low. 

Midnight silence.

After having cast her spell, Iromae nods. "Yes, I think it confirms that we have somehow moved.  I'm not sure if this is another plane or some dimensional pocket or what. But the spell says the door is basically both beside me and unreachable. Something of physical reality has... shifted. I think."  After that, she is more than willing to continue on in the direction they had detected a breeze. "Curious what we'll find," she muses. 

Stepping through to the cellar, she is initially caught a bit off guard by the tingling sensation on her skin. "We all felt that? Like... passing through something?"  When she sees the clutter, it takes a moment to understand that it's an illusion.  Just to make sure, she tries to step back the way they had come, then comes back into the cellar. 

Outside though, seeing the indigo sky and strange rooftops and towers, she is not nearly as surprised. "As I suspected, we are in a different Suzail. But it's still definitely late. We need to find somewhere to rest."  She pauses a moment, "Should we just go back to that basement?" 

Shenua, amazed, takes a few steps into the familiar yet foreign streets beneath the indigo sky. "You were right, Iromae," she says. "Seems we're not returning to the Guild anytime soon."

The tiefling walks a bit further, taking in the scene, trying to recognize the rooftops and match them to what she knows of the original Suzail—and failing. She should feel worried, perhaps, but in truth, she can't help the flicker of excitement that rises in her chest. The streets appear empty, but she wonders if someone might be here—hidden, watching.

She's about to suggest exploring when Iromae proposes they rest. A little disappointed but ultimately agreeing, she turns to the cleric. "Yeah, we should probably do that. Plenty of time to investigate tomorrow—and with clearer heads. Do you think Kalis might be here, in this alternate Suzail? I hope she is. Or at least that we're getting closer to her."

The artificer pauses. "In any case, the basement looks as good a place as any. Better, even, if it's connected to Kalis."

Before stepping inside, Shenua takes one final look at the city with her heightened senses, in case anything pings back before the spell is over.

The streets of this alternate Suzail remain quiet. Not just calm, but unnaturally still — like a city paused mid-breath.

No wandering guards. No drunken songs in the distance. Even the wind feels hesitant, brushing through alleyways without moving a single hanging sign.

Shenua casts her gaze across the cityscape, extending the last flickers of her magic-sense.

She catches two brief pings of arcane energy:

• One, faint and high above, somewhere near the unfamiliar watchtower where the Academy should be. Refined. Held in check. Controlled.
• The other, like a whispering spark, seems buried deep beneath the cobbled streets to the south — wild, untethered, and hidden.

But both vanish almost as quickly as she senses them.

Nothing responds to your presence. No alarms. No curious strangers.

And so, with caution and exhaustion in equal measure, you return to the cellar.

Back inside, the illusion re-forms behind you — effortless, silent. The dusty clutter once again hides the passage. You are sealed in. Safe. For now.

The basement is dry and spacious enough to lay out your gear. A few old crates can be moved to create makeshift bedding. It’s not comfortable — but it’s quiet. And the faint magical hum from below remains steady. Not welcoming, but reassuring.

As each of you settles in, your minds drift with uneasy questions.

You fall asleep in a different Suzail.

When morning comes, the world — at least as far as you can tell — is the same.

You can hear snatches of street noise above you as the city wakes.

With the morning, Iromae arises, feeling stiff but at least more rested than she had the night before.  Hearing the sounds of the city above, she looks at the others. "Now what?" It's a bit rhetorical, as there clearly is little choice other than to head out and explore. After standing a stretching out a bit, she tilts her head towards Vorenus. "I don't suppose you carry emergency waffle supplies, do you? Maybe we find some breakfast?" 

Shenua woke up with a stiff back from sleeping on the floor, her hair a tangled mess. She stretched with a groan and muttered, "Coffee. What I wouldn't give for a hot, black-as-a-demon’s-heart, strong-enough-to-wake-the-dead coffee." When Iromae joked about the emergency waffles, she added, "Yeah, that too," with a sleepy smirk.

Still shaking off the fog of sleep, she stood and moved through a short series of slow, deliberate motions—an old warm-up drill from her artificer training, half arcane focus exercise, half muscle memory. Sparks crackled faintly at her fingertips as she flexed her hands, waking up both body and mind.

Once finished, she ran her fingers through her turquoise hair, then twisted it into a messy bun, locking it in place with one of her trusty lockpicks. "Okay, let’s see…" she mused, sorting through her carefully ordered papers and blueprints. "What shall it be today?" With that, she began going through her spells, swapping out a few iin case they might prove useful for the day ahead.

With everything ready, the tiefling waited for the rest to prepare and said, "Last night, with the last flicker of my magic detection spell, I caught a faint glimmer coming from the watchtower—where the Academy would be in our Suzail. There was another as well, coming from deep beneath the streets to the south. They felt completely different. The first was refined and controlled. The second, wild and untethered. Could be worth checking out both. I'm curious to start with the watchtower, if that's all right with you all. I’m not exactly in a rush to go deep underground again, if I'm honest. But what do you think?"

As the others discussed, she focused especially on Vorenus and Iromae, who'd been tense the day before when she exposed Vorenus's sorcery. She didn't regret it—she still believed it was important they all knew, in case his wild magic ever affected them—but she wasn't happy it had caused friction between them. Shenua didn't mention it aloud, but she couldn't help glancing at them from time to time, silently hoping things were smoother today. Iromae seemed better, at least.

Once they reached the streets, the artificer paused at the ambient sounds of the city beginning to stir. "I don't know why," she remarked, half to herself, "but I wasn't expecting this version of Suzail to be inhabited." 

As they walked, she cast curious glances at everyone they passed, studying each face with quiet interest.

Iromae nods at Shenua's suggestion. "The watchtower is fine, but don't forget breakfast too."  She then follows her outside once everyone is ready. 

A sudden intake of breath escapes Vorenus as he steps out onto the street.  He looks up and the buildings are all wrong, the sky is wrong, everything feels... off.  He stretches out his hands, looks at the tattoos on his forearms, almost as if he expects someone else's hands to appear before his eyes.  "Whoa..." is all the comes out for a moment.  He nods silently when reentry to the basement of this alter-Suzail is proposed, he follows along, head on a swivel as he takes it all in.  He collapses in a corner and falls into a deep sleep, occasional stuttering snores escaping his mouth, he awakens with a jolt and a start the next morning, trying to get his bearings in this new place.  

Vorenus chuckles when Ironmae mentions his waffles, saying "Well let me see what I can whip up here... ah... nothing.  I got nothing.  I would definitely be into some breakfast.  And coffee!"  As they exit on the street, Vorenus concurs, saying "Breakfast then watchtower.  Something on the way.  And I swear I'll try not to poison anybody..."  He looks with a feeble grin at Ironmae and Shenua.  He turns and looks back at Diego, saying "Wake up ya lout, we've got work to do!  Do your dreaming about ladies that you've serenaded out of their knickers some other time!  Hah!"