For a moment, I thought it had worked.
The details of your brothers’ plot is of little import and what matters is that we, after years of effort and subterfuge, learned of a way to part the mists around our country and leave its borders. It was no certain thing, but I confess to my hope and confidence when we took that blind step into the unfamiliar beyond.
The walk was short and the landscape unremarkable until, without warning, my surroundings became other. I emerged, then, not in the mists but at the foot of a stone gateway at the edge of some wilderness. Séraphin was not with me. Perhaps he turned back. Perhaps we were each of us spirited to a different, unknown place. Perhaps my body was unmade and my soul siphoned into some purgatory where I must atone for my sins—in which case I fear I will be here for some time.
I am told this place is called Sophia’s Rest—is the name known to you at all? It means naught to me, but I estimate it shall, soon. I know little of it and its people, those lost souls who share my possibly-eternal damnation, but we have spoken some of our shared predicament. Many have arrived here under circumstances similar to mine, and have questions similar to mine. They believe the gate lies at the centre of this plot: that if it can be somehow unlocked it will lead back to where we each came from. For many souls that would doubtless be a worse hell than to be marooned here. Still, they seek answers.
To-day I shall join them in their search, knowing not where it shall lead, and let the land present itself to me. Fate moves us ever where it pleases, does it not, sister?
I will burn these letters and scatter them to the winds. Perhaps they will bring my words to you. Until we meet again I remain
most sincerely yours,
Tristan
