“Some doors should never be opened. Some islands should remain lost. And some experiments should die with their creators.”

You survived what lurked beneath Lepidstadt’s veneer of civility—the rot hidden behind gilded masks, the cruelty dressed in bourgeoisie finery, the evil that thrives in the shadows cast by gaslights and grand estates. But survival came at a cost. The International Consortium of Epopts is no more, shattered by Dr. Ritalson’s betrayal, and what he unleashed now spreads like a virus through the waking world.

Bearing scars both visible and hidden, you’ve been recruited by the Limina Foundation—hastily reformed from the Consortium’s ruins—to find six former agents—colleagues, friends—who vanished on a fog-shrouded night on Lake Prophyria. Witnesses speak of that terrible night in hushed voices thick with dread. How an unnatural fog rolled across water gone dead and still. How ships’ lanterns died one by one like drowning stars. How something vast moved within the fog, patient as the grave and infinitely hungry.

Then came the screaming—raw, animal, wrong. Then worse than silence: the sound of feeding. A single ship, their ship, drifted back at false dawn, deck slick with fluid that wasn’t quite blood but not a body to be found. A single word was carved desperately into the mast: “CHOSE.”

Your journey down the Mourntray River to Lake Prophyria reveals Ustalav rotting from within. The Veil of Slumber tears wider each day as dreams corrupt the waking world. Black sand artifacts consume the dreams and life of all who covet them. An ancient darkness, patient and hungry, pulses with renewed strength. And everywhere, the mists gather—unnatural, deliberate.

The black sand spreads its corruption. The bell tolls from Castle Kronquist. The mists rise. And this time, the mists know your names