Family dais #

Upon the main wall of Melekoth’s chamber—

the wall cut by a single, narrow window through which moonlight forever falls.

The moon should not always sit in that angle; the light should not always find the dais. Yet somehow it does, pooling in a pale, silver wash over the stone platform.

The dais beneath the window is simple, hewn from the same mountain rock as the rest of the chamber. Yet the stone here is smoother, worn by years of his touch. It rises only a handspan from the floor, offering no grandeur—only reverence.

Upon it rests a book of children’s tales. With an inscription to my husband Demetrius and daughter Daphne Love Mom.

Its cover is faded, its corners softened from being opened too many times by small, eager hands. When the moonlight touches its pages, the gold in the ink glimmers faintly, as though the stories themselves still breathe. Between the pages lie pressed flowers gathered long ago—pale ghosts of once-bright blooms his daughter had brought him, insisting they be kept safe.

Beside the book rests a tiny wooden sword, the surface nibbled by the teeth of maybe an excitable young boy who once promised his father he would slay monsters.

There is a small linen doll too, patched in places by careful stitches. The moonlight always seems to fall most gently upon it, as if even the cold night recognizes its importance.

Behind these relics, carved deep into the stone, are three silhouettes—

a woman and two children—

etched so precisely that the moonlight finds every line of their forms. Beneath the silhouettes, their names are inscribed with strokes deliberate enough to resist erosion, war, and centuries.

Evelyn

Daphne

Delemikos

Beneath the eternal spill of moonlight, beside the worn book of children’s tales, lies a single scroll—its vellum yellowed, its ribbon stained from being untied and retied countless times. Unlike the book, which carries echoes of laughter and bedtime stories, the scroll holds something heavier: the truth Melekoth forces himself to remember, even when memory claws at him like an old wound.

He wrote it long ago, when grief was still fresh and the fear of forgetting burned hotter than rage. The script begins steady and elegant, then grows sharper as the tale darkens.

It tells of an elven woman—his beloved—whose grace softened every edge of his life. It speaks of a boy with bright, curious eyes and a girl who could coax flowers to bloom with a giggle. They lived together in an elven village deep within a forest so ancient its name has already been swallowed by time. In those days, as Melekoth writes, his life was heaven. A world without fear. Magic that served joy instead of power. Days defined by peace, nights by warmth, and nothing—absolutely nothing—required beyond love.

Then the scroll shifts.

The letters lose their elegance. The ink grows heavier.

Argoroth came.

Melekoth describes the sky tearing open with armies of malformed creatures spilling through, beings shaped by nightmare more than flesh. He writes how their perfect forest cracked under the weight of corruption, how their songs turned to screams, how his wife and children ran while the air itself twisted with the wrongness of Argoroth’s presence.

And then—

in a line that shakes slightly even after all these years—

he describes the moment their souls were consumed.

No afterlife.

No lingering essence.

No astral echo.

Argoroth devoured them utterly, leaving nothing that even a god could trace. No prophecy, no spellcraft, no Avenari brilliance could call them back. Their light did not dim; it vanished.

Melekoth seemed to keep the scroll on the dais for a reason. Not to mourn—but to anchor himself. To fight the erosion of centuries. To forbid time from dulling the edges of the people he loved. The dais is not a chamber of sorrow. It is a fortress built against oblivion, its stones sworn to guard the truth of his family’s existence.

You standing on this dais, felt what Melekoth might would have felt, not tyrant nor strategist.

But simply a man who once loved, fearful of forgetting through the passing years something that he may never find again.

JAR #

The table holds a Jar of Last Words. A plain clay vessel sealed with pitch, humming faintly. Inside it are the dying utterances of an executed traitor.

You a conversation:

Melekoth: I must confess that what you did it is novel and impressive, we thought the line was broken, but you rebuilt it ! though I dont think the enlightened one can reincarnate inside her anymore it does not work this way. Though she will have great potential to control the weave like no other wizard.

Traitor: That was not our goal. You will never find her the baby is safe powerful enchantments even you dont know how to pierce. She will take revenge on your damn Empire.

Melekoth: So its a girl … dont you worry there better ways than enchantments to find someone though as her father you did well but in time I will find her

Traitor: Ha ha ha I have seen parts of the future my daughter will be the least of your worries.

Emperor: what have you seen scum tell me who gets freed?

Traitor now in dying breath: Everyone.

Emperor: MORE RIDDLES SPEAK PLAINLY

Traitor in dying breath: You were a father once

Emperor: how do yo..

Traitor in dying breath: just don't kill her promise me

Emperor: I promise

Book 3954th #

This could the end of my plans but the masters of the black can be reason with now that they have a challenger in their war. I will bide my time until we find a way to mitigate their invasion. The apocalypse engine is halted.

Nearly half the western territories had fallen when I chose Tarantis as the staging ground for the experiments. Its proximity to Rathis Island made it ideal—isolated enough to contain any failures, yet close enough to maintain control. The island’s remoteness served a dual purpose: it kept the prying eyes of fools at bay and ensured that no misstep would threaten the heart of the empire.

Malvensis falls at last the archmage took many proxies to kill I have to hunt his clones now and prune the successors. There are elements hating magic in Malvensis that Ineed to cultivate.

Finally some luck! an artifact of immense historical and strategic significance under my control. The island could be supplied with prisoners from across the empire through the ancient teleportation gate located within the ruins of the old castle.

I will threaten the lich to move there and start the work we will need many bodies.

At last, I have found her—the final descendant of the Awakened One.They went to great lengths to shackle her gifts to their will, but that blasted line of wizards is finally gone. And now, their weapon is mine.

That foolish hag believed she could control her. Finding the girl was no simple task, she will be imprisoned for now.

Had the dragon been slain, as promised, and the bounty hunters earned their coin, the resistance might already be ash in the snow. But no. They failed me. Again.

I can wait no longer. The attack on the Wardens has to begin. Eretra also found a pathogen that can maybe wipe our invaders. Winter is creeping closer, I can feel the tide of fate drawing near—heavy, inevitable.

The Wardens proved far more dangerous than anticipated. Not only did they survive the assault, they retaliated—striking deep into my lair. They nearly succeeded.

During the chaos, the leader —that thing—mutated in ways we did not anticipate. It nearly tore my pet and me apart, yet they paid dearly for their audacity. Their cursed leader lies dead. Still… the portal to my sanctuary was defiled. That stain remains. I will relocate, far to the east, to a new stronghold buried deep within the mountains. Let them think they have won. Let them chase shadows. This will not happen again I have their blood now the protection I will erect will be total.

Doth spearheaded the attack on the Wardens. I can rely on him—fear for one’s own survival remains one of the few dependable levers of control. He is my sibling, though his power remains largely untapped. Still, he is among the rare shadow walkers who I severed their bond with Eoda, retaining fragments of their power and usefulness.

The Tarantis Crystal must be protected. With its size and the vast population of Tarantis, I will have a massive head start on the ritual to bind him forever. Still, I will need to sacrifice at least three hundred thousand additional bodies to complete it.

I will dispatch whatever troops I can spare, though our forces are already strained. The barbarian kings of the North have rebelled and allied themselves with the Wardens. Their betrayal was unforeseen—we had a deal. Greedy wretches. What could the Wardens possibly have offered them to turn so suddenly?

The timing… it was terrible.

How could they have known? They didn't. They couldn't have.

Yet once again I find myself cornered by misfortune. Is it simply bad luck… or something deeper?

Why do I always end up here? Is this causality? I thought I had more time.

I sent Belladona. She failed me.

Unexpected, yes—but failure nonetheless. If Tarantis falls into rebel hands, my progress will be undone by decades. Especially now that the Lich is nowhere to be seen.

That Goliath... she believes she can close the gate. She couldn’t seal the last one—though then it was in its unstable form.

I’ve contacted the Eldritch One through the portal of the crystal. It agreed to help—on the condition that I grant it Tarantis... to play with. I can feed its hunger. Its intelligence is troubling. But I am out of options.

I will intervene if I must, though I would rather not. The fronts are collapsing. If they fall, all is lost. My work will be erased.

I will not allow that.

Eretra has reported that the experiments are complete.Soon, I will have an army of horrors—twisted abominations born from the power of the crystals I’ve gathered. With their strength, I can raise a force vast enough to drown the rebellion in blood, silence the Wardens forever and take the rest of the continent. The east is then next. At last the planet will be mine I cannot lose another planet.

I’ve ordered the laboratories to be spread throughout the empire. Hidden. Multiplying. Each one a crucible of transformation, a forge for the future.

His shadowlings are ready and will strike from the north west like an endless tide and crush Alvenasi and the barbarian lords. They will have no chance, let them revel in their short lived victory

My brothers and sisters will not fail me. They know what’s at stake. They remember the last fall. We will not repeat it.

Random Note #

It was there, among shattered stars and drifting ruins, that I first heard of the Incomplete Gate—a portal opened by Takata and Iros Redfaced, and only partially sealed. In its chaotic patterns, there is opportunity.

From the essence of the unstable portal, I will forged a crystal—a singularity of will, a prism of magic that could contain, shape, and channel the forces beyond. But one crystal is not enough.

To fuel my plan, I need more.To create more, I need suffering.Not in drops—but in torrents.

I will industrialize agony. To feed the forges to create a new prison of me father like the Prime Entropy.

But I remain haunted—not by gods, nor by the dead, but by causality itself. It clungs to me like a shadow I can never outrun. The oath I broke reverberated through time like a cracked bell, echoing across every choice I made.

Every second counts.

And so, to stall the inevitable, I hunt my brothers—I will unravel the chain of fate, one link at a time.I will finish the forges.To perfect the crystals.To enslave destiny itself.

Ritual Diagram #

I must prepare the chamber alone and seal it against all interruption, for this is not a summoning but a wound I intend to carve into reality itself. The circle must be drawn without error, every line steady, every curve deliberate. I will begin with my blood a creature bound to entropy, letting it spill into the heart of the sigil so it may thin the fabric of the world. I must remember that I am not tearing yet — only weakening, only coaxing existence into hesitation. When the air grows heavy and the light seems uncertain of its path, I will add the blood of primal creation Loka's and Leyla's blood. Leyla's blood is more potent it is more undiluted the mages did their job well. The two forces must collide within the circle, unmaking and genesis forced into contradiction, and I must not flinch when the veil trembles. In that violent disagreement, the Scar should appear.

When it does, I must act quickly. I will not allow the fracture to widen uncontrolled. With the enlightened blood I will bend its edges inward with will alone, shaping the rupture into a sphere before infinity can press through unchecked. I will force curvature upon the wound, enclosing it, containing it, turning open disaster into controlled horizon. The crystal i got from the golem must be powered by at least :

Φ∞​=∮∂S​1−rc22GM​​∇⋅(Δreality​)​dA⟶∣Φ∞​∣→ 160

160 ranks of spells

I must refrain from my duties for some time to be able to muster this power.

I must not look too long into what lies beyond, no matter how it calls or how it weighs upon my thoughts. If my focus wavers, the Scar will expand rather than fold, and the sphere will collapse outward instead of sealing inward. I understand now that this is not protection but pressure contained, and I must be stronger than the infinite strain pushing back against my design.

Ritual #